


The Village Darlings

by userl4me



Category: Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco, Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Mob, Drag Queens, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gay Bar, Historical, Homophobia, LGBTQ Themes, Light Angst, M/M, Music, Nonbinary Character, Period-Typical Homophobia, Slow Burn, Speakeasies, Sweet Pea is the best character in this fic, mafia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-05-13 21:47:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 39,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14756907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/userl4me/pseuds/userl4me
Summary: The year is 1928. After losing his job at a news outlet, Frank finds himself living on his best friend's couch with no hope in sight. However, after a strange encounter with a man and his piano, Frank ends up with a job prospect: a musician at an underground speakeasy, specifically, a drag ball.As Frank settles in this risk-insured lifestyle, he encounters not only the law, new enemies, and secrecy of his new career, but the love of an aloof yet fascinating drag queen, Miss Gee Way.





	1. The Encounter

Frank knew he hit rock bottom when the only thing kissing him in the morning was his dog, Sweet Pea. Though Frank wouldn’t have otherwise minded, the other side of the bed seemed a little colder each day.

_“Not a bed,”_ Frank reminded himself, as he blindly reached for his dog on the floor, _“But a couch. Your friend’s couch, specifically.”_

Ignoring that last thought, Frank stretched on the couch, letting the sun stream from the window behind him to his chest, like an idle cat. He struggled to open his eyes, but eventually forced them to stay open, despite the lure of the warm spot on the couch. Sweet Pea scurried to Frank’s feet, trying to tug the sock off of Frank’s foot. Usually, he would’ve let Sweet Pea have her way. Unfortunately, it was his last pair of socks, and he knew he wouldn’t go shopping for a while.

“Sorry, baby,” Frank mumbled, standing up from the couch. He looked down at himself: same white-button down, trousers, and suspenders (now hanging loosely by his sides), but looking a little worse for wear now. Frank shrugged, and trudged away from the couch. He glared at Jamia in the kitchen, as she leaned against the countertop. How she still managed to look like a pin-up girl in unbrushed hair and a silk, blush-colored bathrobe, Frank had no idea. 

“The dead has finally risen,” Jamia smirked, taking her mug off the countertop. Frank could only sigh, grumbling something under his breath. 

“What was that?” Jamia asked, her bob bouncing as she tilted her head. Frank rolled his eyes.

“Maybe if someone other than Sweet Pea woke me,” Frank said, grabbing the pot of coffee from the countertop. “I wouldn’t look like I came out of a goddamn horror film.” 

As he lifted the pot up to his lips, Jamia grabbed his arm, glaring at him. 

“You’re getting a mug,” she said. “Like a civilized member of society.”

Putting down the pot, Frank chuckled. “I’ll be a civilized member of society once I find a job. Then Sweet Pea and I will be out of your hair, your couch, and your coffee.”

Frank bent down to pick up Sweet Pea, who was gnawing at the bottom of his pant leg. He kissed the top of Sweet Pea’s head, his morning anger quickly simmering away with each hug he gave her. Jamia could only laugh at Frank, walking past him as the sashes of her robe fluttered behind her. 

“This is why you can’t find a new beau,” Jamia called after Frank, as she wrinkled her nose at what Frank made of her couch. “You’ll always love that damn dog more than any man.”

Frank flipped off Jamia, and she blew him a kiss in return, retreating to her bedroom. 

Despite her teasing, Frank knew that besides Sweet Pea, Jamia was the only person he knew he could trust. Both came from Belleville, and suffered under the oppressive standards of their town: Jamia, for her free spirit nearly squandered by the unavoidable fate of marriage, and Frank, for his forbidden proclivity towards men. Thus, they both soon left for New York, Jamia becoming an urban socialite, and Frank finding himself in the world of journalism. 

Unfortunately, Frank could only grimace when he remembered how he was unceremoniously fired. The editor found out about an indiscretion of his, and promptly sacked Frank of his position. Next thing he knew, he and Sweet Pea were crashing at Jamia’s place, with Frank grumbling that he was “too good for any of them, anyway.”

He had to get his pride from somewhere at this point.

Sighing, Frank put down Sweet Pea, and snapped his suspenders over his shoulders, attempted to straighten the wrinkles in his shirt, and stumbled around the living room for his shoes. When he found them under the couch, he grimaced at the hole chewed through the front part. Frank glared at Sweet Pea, who thumped her tail on the floor without a clue.

Still, Frank could improvise. After putting on his shoes, Frank colored in his white sock peeking through the hole with black marker, and grinned. 

“I’ll be out!” Frank yelled to Jamia, whose head popped through her bedroom door. Her bob was now brushed through, and she was rubbing her teeth to get rid off any red lipstick on them. “Watch Sweet Pea for me.”

“Of course, Frankie,” Jamia said absentmindedly, bending down to tighten the straps on her heels. “Do good out there.”

“When have I ever done anything good?”

Jamia laughed. and went down into the bedroom. Frank glanced at his distorted reflection in the coffee pot, and straightened his bed hair with his fingers. Snapping his suspenders against his chest, Frank blew a kiss to Sweet Pea.

Stepping outside Jamia’s apartment door, Frank would only anticipate the worst. 

 

\---

 

This place was beneath Frank, and Frank knew he was a sorry excuse of a human. The newspaper Frank applied for this time operated in a warehouse, and Frank hadn’t even heard of it until he saw the ad. Apparently, the New York Scoop was a side project ran by an ambitious group of journalism students. The operator of the group, a particularly bright-eyed young man called Remington (with so little experience that he didn’t even ask for Frank’s full name during the first phone call), took Frank to the back of the warehouse while the other two typed furiously on their typewriters in the corner.

“Pleasure to see you,” Remington grinned, shaking Frank’s hand as he pulled up two wooden stools for him and Frank sit on. Frank sat, and forced a smile. 

“The pleasure’s all mine, Remington-“

“Call me Mr. Leith, please,” Remington interrupted. Frank narrowed his eyes: Frank knew he had no business giving some student a title, when Frank knew he had more experience than this kid.

Still, though. A job was a job.

“Of course,” Frank said, smiling and trying not to grind his teeth together. “Sorry, Mr. Leith.”

“No trouble at all,” Remington ( _Mr. Leith_ , Frank reminded himself bitterly) said, and sat across from Frank on the stool. The clacking from the typewriters echoed across the warehouse and bounced back to Frank. “Now, tell me: why do you want to start working for us?”

_“Because I have no money and little dignity at this point,”_ Frank thought. 

“Because I want to share my knowledge on journalism to those with the same passion I have,” Frank grinned. Mr. Leith nodded, smiling back. Frank thought he nearly had this sucker in the bag.

“What prior experience did you have before coming here?” Mr. Leith asked. 

“The New York Daily News, two years. I was a senior writer.”

“Well then, that’s some experience,” Mr. Leith said. “Just give us your full name and we can get you started.”

“Iero,” Frank said, genuinely grinning. He’d get back to work in no time. “Frank Iero.”

The warehouse was now downcast with silence. Even the men typing away stopped, looking up at Frank. Mr. Leith coughed nervously.

“Iero?” Mr. Leith said. “I’ve heard of you, you know.”

Frank tried not to vomit. or a moment, he thought he was anonymous among them. Yet somehow, the news of his indiscretions even reached journalism students; not just nearly every news outlet in the goddamn state. 

“A buddy of mine at the Daily News told me about you,” Mr. Leith continued. “A preference of yours became public to the editor.”

Frank nearly cursed, remembering the incident: Frank wasn’t stupid enough to announce his preference for men among the office, but it became an open secret over time. Another writer was threatened by Frank’s rising status among the office, and eventually spilled to the superiors of Frank’s “activities among the same sex”. Frank was promptly fired, unable to gather his things from his desk.

“We’ve read your articles,” Mr. Leith said. “And they’re written very well. But we’re a young newspaper, and we can’t have someone of your reputation threatening our growth.”

_“What growth?”_ Frank thought. Despite this, Frank knew he couldn’t yell at the little upstart like he wanted to. In Mr. Leith’s world, Frank was a freak: no think piece could ever change his mind.

Instead, Frank stood up, kicked the stool down, and stormed to the exit of the warehouse. The clacking resumed, and Frank looked back to see Mr. Leith’s reaction. Instead, Mr. Leith just went over to his workers, like nothing else happened.

Like Frank didn’t even exist.

 

\--- 

 

Frank found himself in the heart of Bleecker Street. Bedsheets hung over the sloping hoods over doors, pinned to the bottom of rusting fire escapes. Behind those bedsheets were urban garage sales: from perusing the stalls behind the sheets, Frank found everything, from unworn baby shoes to heirloom jewelry. He never bought anything from there anymore, but he had filled Jamia’s apartment with buys from earlier visits. Despite her annoyance at this, at least the tapestries Frank found that supposedly came from the Middle East (but was really sewn by some Italian grandma looking for some money) covered the unpainted brick walls. 

Peeking through the bedsheets that hung over Quick Lunch, a little insignificant deli among a sea of insignificant delis, Frank’s eyes widened at what he saw. The man standing by laughed at Frank’s reaction, rolling up his sleeves. 

“It was my father’s,” the man explained, running a hand through his uncombed curls. “Hurts to give it away, but the deli’s not doing so well.”

Frank nodded, and gazed at the piano the man leaned against. Black paint was peeling from the piano, exposing its wood, and the white keys yellowed with time. “Steinway and Sons”, it read on the back of the bench, faded. Frank looked up at the man, who was sheepishly running his hand over the black keys.

“Beauty, isn’t she?” the man said, and held out a hand to Frank. “Joe.”

“Frank,” Frank replied, shaking Joe’s hand. Letting go, Frank sat on the bench of the piano, and Joe laughed again.

“You like music?” Joe asked. Frank shrugged.

“I was the organ player when I was in Catholic school,” Frank said, “but I prefer jazz. Much more lively.”

“Definitely,” Joe said, surprising Frank. Most people grew uncomfortable when Frank revealed his love for the music, which was too fast-paced for traditional sensibilities. “Can you play something?”

“From Catholic school?” Frank snorted. “Because I can probably remember a psalm or two.”

“No, I meant jazz,” Joe laughed. “It’s hardly out of tune, so you don’t need to worry about that.”

Frank smiled, and glanced at the keys. Though they needed to be wiped down, Frank didn’t mind the dust collected on his fingertips as he struggled to play Charleston by The Knickerbockers from memory. He only heard it once in a while, when Jamia convinced him to go out dancing with her, but the repetition of the song overtook Frank’s surroundings. The piano’s condition, Mr. Leith, and smeared reputations faded away as Frank found himself remembering the way the light reflected off of the sequins in Jamia’s dress that night. 

Frank nearly jumped from his seat when someone put a hand on his shoulder, and turned around to see a grinning Joe.

“You’re one helluva pianist,” Joe said. “Is this your trade? Music, I mean.”

Frank shook his head. “I’m a journalist.”

_“Was,”_ Frank thought. He stood up from the bench to face Joe.

“Can I read anything of yours?” Joe asked. Frank forced a laugh. 

“I wasn’t very good,” Frank lied. “My old place fired me for a reason.”

Joe narrowed his eyes, stepping towards Frank, who took a step back. His back was against the bedsheets, and Joe’s eyes widened in realization.

“I know who you are, Iero,” Joe said. Frank’s eyes darted for escape, but he nodded, expecting Joe to throw him out of his stall. After searching for any disgust in Joe’s expression, Frank couldn’t find much of anything. 

“News goes around,” Joe finally said. “Sorry that had to happen to you. I always loved your articles: very biting, very raw.”

Frank nearly exhaled in relief, but contained himself. “Right. Thank you.”

Before he could get up to leave, Joe grabbed his shoulder, and Frank sat down on the bench. There was a spark of something in Joe’s eyes.

“Do you frequent Greenwich Village at all?” Joe asked. Frank held his breath. Joe already (somehow) seemed to know Frank was a homosexual. It seemed a little useless to try and cover up anything at this point. 

“Yes,” Frank admitted. “I suppose sodomy wasn't in the job description.”

Joe burst into laughter and Frank found himself growing comfortable with the stranger.

“At least you kept your humor," Joe snorted. "Have you found another job yet?”

Frank shrugged. “I’m staying with a friend until I can make ends meet.”

There was a spark of mischief in Joe's eyes. “What if I told you I could find you a job?”

There was silence until Frank got up from the seat, shaking his head.

“I’m not becoming a prostitute,” Frank hissed, whispering the last word. Joe’s eyes widened, and he shook his head.

“Oh, God no, that’s not what I was insinuating,” Joe said, leaning into Frank’s ear to whisper. “You could be a pianist. A buddy of mine owns a little joint and we need someone to play music. You’re talented as all hell, and he’s getting a bit desperate.”

Frank raised his eyebrows. He knew what Joe meant by a “joint”: Frank’s been out drinking with Jamia in speakeasies, even after the ban on alcohol. He was already sort of involved in that lifestyle, so escalating didn’t seem like much of a problem. In theory.

“What about the… Groups that run them?” Frank asked. Joe froze, but exhaled before he whispered to Frank.

“Trust me when I say this: you won't run into them much,” Joe reassured him. “So, do we have a deal?”

Frank weighed the options in his head. On one hand, he wouldn’t be tip-toeing the line between the law: the fact that he’d be working for the mob, which everyone knew financed the speakeasies, meant he was getting involved in something much deeper than he knew he could handle.

Then again, Frank looked down at himself: it was the third day in the row that he wore this outfit, and he wasn’t going to ask Jamia for any money. Though it was the mob, they paid generously to every worker. Frank and Sweet Pea would be able to move out of Jamia’s, and resume the life Frank had before he lost his job.

“What the hell,” Frank said, and shook Joe’s hand. Joe grinned, and pulled Frank into a hug, whispering in his ear.

“Come to 34 Klein Street in the Village,” Joe whispered. “Be there by three in the morning.”

Frank nodded, and Joe pulled away from Frank, still smiling. He nodded towards the piano.

“Once you have the money, I’ll sell her to you,” Joe said. Frank’s eyes widened, and Joe laughed at his reaction.

“You’re a wizard with the keys,” Joe said. “And I wouldn’t trust anyone else to play her.”


	2. The Interview

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a strange encounter, Frank goes on his first proper interview in months. An underground interview that may or may not involve the mob, an oath, and an even stranger brown-eyed man.

To say that Frank was nervous was an understatement. He spent the rest of the day holed up in Jamia’s apartment, snuggling with Sweet Pea as he contemplated what the fuck he just got himself into. 

On one hand, there was serious money involved, in doing something Frank genuinely enjoyed. On the other hand, one false move, and Frank could be shot by the mob, or locked up in prison just for playing the piano.

He looked down at Sweet Pea, who was licking his stubbled chin. Frank sighed, and kissed the top of her head.

“First thing I’m getting you when I get my first check is a toy,” he said. “So you’ll never have to chew on my shoes ever again.”

With that, Jamia left her bedroom, out of her day clothes into a little fringed, champagne-colored number that reached the top of her knees. Frank knew Jamia’s mother would be scandalized at the short length of the dress, but Frank nodded in approval.

“Lovely,” Frank commented. “You look like a low-grade Clara Bow.”

Jamia rolled her eyes. “Honey, I _am_ Clara Bow. She just doesn’t know it yet.”

Frank snorted as Jamia’s heeled shoes clicked against the floor, and Sweet Pea jumped off of Frank’s chest to follow her, fascinated by the shine in her heels. Frank got up and picked Sweet Pea up, escorting Jamia to the door.

“You should go out with me tonight!” Jamie grinned, dark eyes sparkling. “You were so down when you got home, I damn near thought you were gonna throw yourself off my roof.”

Frank grimaced at the memory: the minute Jamia got home, she pounced on him, asking about the interview. Jamia quickly abandoned the subject when Frank ranted about Mr. Leith, careful to avoid any mention of Joe. For all Jamia knew, Frank was still the jobless degenerate she somehow still tolerated, and for once, Frank wanted to keep it that image in her head.

It felt strange, though, not being able to tell Jamia about what happened today. Throughout their lives, they would be the first person they’d turn to in any crisis: Jamia in her frustrations with the restrictions placed on her, and Frank in his fear of his own desires. Even in Belleville, everyone assumed they would eventually marry each other. Instead, they ran off to New York, establishing themselves as Jamia and Frank, Frank and Jamia, the dynamic duo extraordinaire. They loved each other with a passion found not in civilized society, but as kinship only freaks can find with each other.

“Frank?” Jamia said. “Are you okay?”

Frank blinked, then looked down at Jamia. He smiled, trying to quell her concerns. “Of course. I’m quite tired, though, so I think Sweet Pea and I are going to stay in for the night.”

“You love dancing, though!” Jamia said.

_“I also love having job opportunities in the dead of night,”_ Frank thought. He put a hand on her shoulder, forcing a laugh.

“I’ll be okay, Jams,” he said. “It’s just me and Sweet Pea tonight.”

“Fine,” Jamia said, sighing dramatically. “I’ll be out all night though.”

_“Thank God,”_ Frank thought. The last thing he needed was Jamia coming home and realizing Frank wasn’t there.

“Don’t forget your purse,” Frank said, as Jamia stepped out the door. Leaning against the doorframe, she grinned.

“I never have to pay for drinks, Frankie.”

With that, she turned around, the fringes on her dress swinging as she disappeared down the hallway, and the clicking of her heels echoing across the hallway. Frank shut the door, sucking in a breath as he looked at the clock, seeing that it was nearly one in the morning.

“Guess we gotta wait, baby,” he whispered to Sweet Pea. “Don’t get too lonely while I’m gone.”

 

\---

 

Despite difficulties in leaving (due to Sweet Pea trying to follow him out the door), Frank managed to leave Jamia’s apartment, making his way to 34 Klein Street. Though Frank never had any problem walking through New York (due to the grid system), he thought he arrived at the wrong place.

Unlike most of the abandoned shops that Jamia frequented to find speakeasies in the basement, Frank found himself standing in front of a barber’s shop. The shine of the red and blue stripes on the pole outside the shop lazily spun, and Frank squinted to read the the sign above: Toro’s Men’s Barbershop. A sign was pasted on the shop’s window, depicting hairstyles for black and Hispanic men in Harlem. In the distance, Frank narrowed his eyes to see a figure approaching him. Through tired, bleary eyes, Frank was able to make out Joe’s figure. Frank approached Joe in relief. 

“Thought I was at the wrong place,” Frank said, gesturing to the sign above them. “Messed up the one job opportunity I have.”

“Well, at least we’re inconspicuous,” Joe said. “The door’s unlocked, by the way. The owner’s right inside.”

Frank nodded as Joe opened the door, and him and Frank went inside, Joe locking the door with the key from his pocket. Frank and Joe passed the barber’s chairs, squinting in the dark as if the owner was sitting in one of them.

“Where is he?” Frank asked. Joe laughed at this, confusing Frank until they made their way to the back of the room. In the back was a carpet, stained with shampoo and stray hairs caught in the beige fibers. Joe rolled up the rug to reveal a door on the floor, and Frank’s eyes widened.

“I feel like I’m in a damn detective novel,” Frank muttered. Joe gripped the handle on the wooden door and opened it, revealing a ladder leading down into a basement. Joe propped the door open as he went down, and Frank gulped.

“You coming?” Joe asked, his voice echoing from the hole in the floor. Frank simply sighed, and went down the hole, catching his foot on the ladder, and closing the door behind them.

_“Do it for the money, Frankie,”_ Frank reminded himself. _“Do it for the money.”_

 

\--- 

 

When they got down the bottom of the ladder, Frank found himself pressed against Joe in the small space, as Joe attempted to open the door before them.

“I usually take someone out before we end up in this position,” Frank said. Joe rolled his eyes when the door finally opened, and Frank was hesitant to enter. 

“You’ve made it this far,” Joe said. Frank looked back, then stormed in with Joe.

The bar was converted from a basement to a little speakeasy: a bar was set up in the back of the room, shelves displaying bottles of booze neatly lined up. Stools and tables were clustered in the middle of the room to make space for an elevated area in the front of the room, with chairs and a piano in one corner of the stage. 

Sitting in the middle of the room was a man. Despite wearing an outfit similar to Frank’s, the man was much more put together: his shirt and suspenders were straightened, and the man’s curly hair was tamed into a tight bun. He gestured for Joe and Frank.

“Joe,” he said. “This the guy you were telling me about?”

“Yeah,” Joe replied. “Should I stay, or…?” 

“I’ll take over from here,” the man said. “You can bring in Gerard soon.”

Joe nodded, and left. Frank faced the man, forcing a smile, but the man remained stoney-faced. It was like they were playing a game of poker, and Frank was obviously losing.

“Toro,” the man said, holding out his hand. “Raymond Toro. Everyone calls me Ray, though. I own the shop by day, and manage the speakeasy by night.”

Frank shook Ray’s hand, regretting that he didn’t wipe the sweat off of them before he touched Ray. “I’m Frank. Frank Iero. Your new pianist-“

“Who said it was confirmed?” Ray said, taking away his hand. He didn’t seem to take note of Frank’s nerves. “We need to make sure of two things first: that you can keep a secret, and can actually play well.”

Frank nodded. “Well, I’ve been playing the piano for years now. Catholic school, and-“

“You can’t really keep a secret, though,” Ray said. Despite the interruption, there wasn’t a hint of malice in Ray’s voice. “Joe told me about the scandal at your last job.”

Freezing, Frank felt his eyes burn with oncoming tears. Even in a goddamn gay bar, Frank’s reputation would follow him forever. He wasn’t a writer, or a pianist, or even Frank Iero: to anyone with any awareness, he was just a homosexual.

“How can we be sure you’ll be able to keep us a secret,” Ray continued. “If you can’t even save yourself?”

Gulping the lump in his throat, Frank made an attempt to speak.

“I was let go for suspicions of homosexuality,” Frank mumbled. “And yeah, it’s been difficult. Can’t find a job anywhere. That’s not the worst part, though.”

Sucking in a breath, Frank looked up at Ray. Despite Frank about to tell this stranger a secret he couldn’t even whisper to Jamia, Ray still appeared expressionless. The only sign Ray had any interest was him leaning forward to listen to Frank.

“Yes, there’s the people that jeer at me, calling me filth, that I’m going to Hell, and that shit,” Frank choked out, ignoring the burning in his eyes. “But it’s not those people I’m angry at. It’s the people that see this pain, this hatred, but they do nothing. It’s the people that looked away in shame when I was told to leave my previous job. It’s my mother, who stayed in her room upstairs when my father told me to get the hell out of his house.”

Frank laughed bitterly, remembering Remington Leith and his feigned sympathy. “It’s this new generation, that’s supposed to be more enlightened than those who entered the Great War, that turn away those who are different. Despite their constant praise of the differences in society, the freaks.”

Leaning into Ray, Frank’s eyes weren’t burning anymore. He didn’t give a shit if he cried, though. “So I swear to Jesus, Mary, and Joseph that I will never tell a soul of this place. You know why, Toro?”

Frank leaned back in his seat, letting out a breath. “Because I want to feel human again.”

Frank got up from his seat, preparing to go. What he didn’t expect was for Ray to grab to his sleeve. Frank turned around, and saw the shock in Ray’s eyes. 

“You’ve got soul, Iero,” Ray finally said, after some hesitation. “I’ll give you that. How do I know you have talent, though?”

If Frank wasn’t so surprised at Ray’s compliment, he would have been more offended. Glancing up at the piano, Frank looked back at Ray.

“I can play a psalm or two,” Frank said. Ray’s lips quirked up into a smile.

“Catholic school?” Ray asked. Frank nodded. Ray let out a chuckle, letting go of his poker face.

“I was a choir boy,” Ray said. “Not as spiritually fulfilling as they said it’d be.”

Frank snorted, but grew silent when he heard shuffling upstairs. Looking back at Ray, who still appeared calm, Frank attempted to quell his nerves. He looked behind his shoulder, and listened to the creak of the door on the floor upstairs. He watched Joe climb down the ladder, and Frank walked up to greet him. However, Frank froze in place as the next person climbed down.

The man, despite the plum-colored bags under his eyes, moved quickly, like he wasn’t tired at nearly three in the damn morning. His greasy, dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail, strands poking out as if they wanted to escape to a shower. He was faintly stout, but Frank couldn’t tell if that was simply his body’s shape, or if the baggy trousers and oversized sweater vest over his shirt created that illusion. The man picked at the fibers of his sweater, refusing to look up. 

“Nice of you to arrive, Joe,” Ray grinned. “Frank, meet Gerard.”

Frank cautiously stepped forward, as if Gerard was a deer about to get hit by an automobile. When Gerard finally looked up, Frank nearly stepped back: Gerard’s deep brown eyes pulled Frank in, wide and unassuming, as if Frank walked into quicksand.

“Gerard, we’ll need you on the stage,” Ray called out, pulling Frank out of his trance. “Frank, you can go by the piano.”

Frank could finally let himself breathe again when Gerard stepped out of his line of sight, and Frank turned to the stage. Stepping up, Frank settled into the piano bench, watching as Gerard quivered on stage. How Gerard was a singer, Frank had no idea.

“Know any Cole Porter?” Frank asked. Gerard jerked his head up in what Frank assumed was a nod, and Frank stretched his fingers, placing them on the keys. He remembered buying a book of Cole Porter’s songs in a music shop, and imagined a piano to play on when he got back to his apartment. Sucking in a breath, Frank began to play, the gentle notes from the keys ringing in the wide space of the speakeasy. It wasn’t until Gerard sang the chorus that Frank was pulled away from his daze, looking up to see Gerard sing.

It wasn’t as flashy as Frank assumed someone would act in a speakeasy. Rather, it was slow, gentle, almost sensual; as though Gerard was singing in a smoky, low-lit jazz bar, draped in black satin and pearls. Gerard turned his head to see Frank still playing, and a small smile played on his lips.

“Let’s do it,” Gerard grinned. Frank looked down, but could still imagine the smirk on Gerard’s face. 

_ "Let's fall in love" _

Deciding to show off, Frank played a few extra notes off the top of his head that would compliment the song, as though he would have the last word. As he took his hands off the keys, he felt the silence crush him. Looking up, he saw Gerard and Joe stare at Ray, who was focused in on Frank.

“Very nice,” Ray said. “You work well with Gerard.”

Standing up from his seat, Ray made his way to the stage, going up to Frank to holdout his hand.

“You’re starting tomorrow night,” Ray said. “We open at twelve in the evening. Beforehand, you’re going to Urie’s Tailor Shop at four in the afternoon to find… Appropriate attire.”

Ray looked at Frank’s clothes, and Frank’s cheeks burned in embarrassment as he shook Ray’s hand. 

“Now, go home, Frank,” Ray said. “Get some rest. You’ll need plenty from here on out.”

Frank nodded, and heard his voice crack. “Thank you so much, Ray. You won’t be disappointed, I swear on Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.”

“I better not be,” Ray said, and chills were sent up Frank’s spine as he got up from the bench, walking to the door that led to the ladder. 

However, before he could leave, Frank felt a hand tap on his shoulder. Turning around, he looked up to see Gerard.

“Pleasure to meet you, Frank,” Gerard said. His voice was low with nerves, but something about it swelled in power, the same power that fueled his singing voice. Frank could only let himself nod in awe.

“Pleasure,” Frank mustered to say, before he turned around to open the door, back into the outside world. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> asdfkl we got Gerard AND Ray introduced in the same chapter??? damn i'm spoiling you guys 
> 
> anyway, if you like the fic and want to see more, leave kudos, bookmark it, comment on it, i don't care bc im a ho for validation
> 
> if you have any questions, contact me at my tumblr (same username as my ao3 account name haha)
> 
> thank you for liking my fic and this ted talk lmao


	3. The Fitting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the interview, Frank gets faced with the consequences of his actions, an eccentric tailor, and the risks of sinking too deep into the speakeasies of New York.

When Frank managed to drag himself back to Jamia’s apartment, he felt himself begin to crash when he approached the door to her place. Never before this had Frank been so grateful for Jamia’s all-nighters. The only thing Frank wanted to do that night was dream of secret doors, Cole Porter, and brown eyes he could just sink into and never crawl out of.

Unfortunately, Frank figured long ago that if anything bad would happen, it would happen to him. That’s why part of him wasn’t surprised when he entered the apartment to find Jamia sitting on the couch with a squirming Sweet Pea in her arms, appearing pissed.

Jamia let go of Sweet Pea, who sprinted up to Frank. Frank picked up Sweet Pea and forced a smile at Jamia, who only glared at him.

“How was the party?” Frank said, his lips growing strained with the smile. “You look wonderful, by the way.”

Standing up from the couch, Jamia stormed up to Frank, and slapped him. Frank didn’t register the slap at first until Sweet Pea started barking hysterically, struggling to get free from Frank’s arms in a pathetic attempt to fight Jamia. Then Frank touched his cheek, now raw and red from Jamia’s fury.

“I came back to find this couch empty, and Sweet Pea scared out of her mind,” Jamia hissed. “Where the hell were you at three in the damn morning?”

Despite her evident anger, Frank heard Jamia’s voice quiver, and saw that her eyes were red from crying. Frank looked down to see Jamia clutch the fringes in her dress’s skirt so tight her knuckles turned white. 

“I’m sorry,” Frank mumbled. “I just thought you’d be out all night.”

Jamia laughed, her voice tinged in bitterness. “I came back home to sleep. I’m human, too, Frank; I need sleep.”

Frank saw Jamia turn around, and her voice cracked. “I didn’t know what to think.”

“Maybe I wanted to take a late walk outside for a bit.”

“I’m not naive, Frankie,” Jamia said, turning around. Her cheeks were stained with tears “You’ve just been so down lately. Between you losing your job and your home, what would have stopped you from going out in the middle of night to…?”

Frank’s eyes widened at the implication, and he put down Sweet Pea to grab Jamia’s shoulder. “I’m not stupid, Jamia, I would never do such a thing-“

“How do I know?” Jamia snarled. “It’s not like you to go out and leave Sweet Pea all alone like this. Thought she was going to have a damn heart attack.”

Jamia knelt down to Frank’s shoulder, and he felt his shirt get wet with her tears. “I just thought tonight was the last night I’d ever see you, or that I didn’t do enough to keep you from going to that point-“

Frank hugged Jamia, smoothing her back as she took a ragged breath. They stayed like that, the only sounds in the apartment being Sweet Pea’s whimpering and Jamia’s irregular breathing.

“I just took a walk, Jams,” Frank lied. “I couldn’t sleep, so I wanted to take a walk outside for a bit.”

Jamia pulled away from Frank, nodding. As she was about to walk away, Frank grabbed her hand. Frank felts stomach sting with guilt as he looked at her. 

“I would never do anything to put myself in that position,” Frank assured, listening to his voice grow low in shame. “I should’ve left a note. I shouldn’t have let you worry like that.”

Looking down to meet Frank’s eyes, Jamia held up her pinky. “Promise you won’t scare me like that again?”

Smiling as he remembered past pinky promises, Frank locked her pinky with Jamia’s. “Of course, Jams.”

Breaking away her pinky, Jamia wiped her eyes, smearing the blurred kohl from her eyes to across her cheeks. Frank snorted, wiping off the kohl from her cheeks with his thumb.

“Let’s wash off the makeup,” Frank said. “You look like Nosferatu in women’s clothing.”

Jamia laughed, and grabbed Frank’s hand to lead him to the bathroom, Sweet Pea following them both. Unbeknownst to her, guilt spread across Frank’s face.

 

\---

 

Frank was awoken with a jolt, as if his body clock slapped him in the face. He looked over to find Jamia standing over him, slipping into her heels. Frank touched his cheek, which he realized felt raw. 

“Did you slap me again?” Frank grumbled. Jamia sighed, turning away from him.

“Good afternoon to you, too,” Jamia said. “I had to take drastic measures, Frankie. You were out like a damn light last night.”

Frank rolled over on his side, and Jamia bent down to meet his face. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, Frank groaned.

“What time is it, Jams?”

“A little after three,” Jamia said. “Slept nearly half the day away.”

Frank’s eyes shot open fully, as he bolted up when Ray’s voice from last night echoed something in the back of his mind. 

_“Beforehand, you’re going to Urie’s Tailor Shop at four in the afternoon to find… Appropriate attire.”_

Ray’s voice pierced Frank’s brain as he snapped his suspenders up to his shoulders, ignoring the smell emitting from his shirt at that point. He slipped into his shoes, cursing when his foot nearly shot through the fragile soles, but ignored the fading marker on his socks. All the while, he let Sweet Pea gnaw on the bottom of his pant leg, too tired to care at that point. It was only until Jamia picked up Sweet Pea did Frank realize the rate his heart was going at. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Jamia cried. Frank went through his brain for an easy lie to tell her.

“Job interview,” he forced out. “It’s at four. Fuck-“

Jamia placed a hand on his shoulder, his jittering sending vibrations up her arm.

“I can take you,” Jamia said softly. “If you’re that stressed out-“

“No!” Frank nearly shrieked. Jamia stepped back, slightly unnerved, and Frank’s brain short-circuited for an appropriate answer.

“The interviewer wanted me to show up alone,” Frank tried to explain. “Endurance, he explained.”

Despite her nodding, Jamia still appeared concerned.

“You’re not lying to me?” she asked, and Frank felt his heart twist. Still, he forced a laugh, and gave Jamia a quick hug. 

“I swear on Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Frank said, smiling as the lie escaped through the gap in his front teeth. “I’ll be out.”

Ignoring Jamia’s further protests, Frank managed to get himself out the door, heart beating with each fib.

 

\---

 

Despite the adrenaline he got from the morning panic, it took Frank quite a while before he was able to find this Urie’s tailor shop on Bleecker Street. He was too apprehensive to ask for directions, and the grid system was blurry in his post-sleep eyes. Fortunately, his eyes caught the sign, the smell of paint on the letters still fresh. Suits were displayed on mannequins, posing more suave than Frank could ever manage in real life.

He went inside, stepping back in nausea from the heavy scent of cologne in the store. Rubbing at his eyes, Frank coughed to clear his throat.

“Hello?” he called out. “Ray sent me here-“

“You called, sir?”

Frank nearly jumped from the new voice, but turned around to find someone who appeared relatively harmless. Standing tall next to the mannequin was a lean young man, dressed smartly in a well-fitted emerald-colored suit, the light shining off of the fabric. His hair was curled to the side as though he was impersonating F. Scott Fitzgerald, and a roll of measuring tape was slung loosely over his shoulders like mink fur on a woman.

“Right,” Frank said. “I’m Frank. Iero. Frank Iero. I want a suit for tonight.”

The man looked up and down at Frank’s attire, and wrinkled his nose in disdain.

“Want?” the man repeated. “You _need_ a suit, my good man.”

He went up to Frank, the clicking of his polished black Oxfords on the floor echoing across the shop, and brought out his tape. Putting the tape in his mouth, he fished a small pencil and notepad from his suit’s jacket pocket, shoving it to Frank. Frank took it hesitantly, and the man took out the tape and walked behind Frank. 

“I’m guessing you’re Mr. Urie?” Frank asked. The man nodded his head.

“That was my father,” he said. “Just call me Brendon.”

Brendon put up Frank’s arms, straightening them as he measured them with the tape. He called out the appropriate measurements, and Frank looked down at the pad before he wrote them down.

“Don’t you have anyone else to take this down?” Frank asked. For a moment, something cracked in Brendon’s grin. However, it dissipated once Brendon barked out a laugh before shaking his head, stretching the measuring tape to fit around Frank’s waist. 

“God, no. If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself,” Brendon said. “Besides, my old partner left the shop. We just had the new sign installed.”

_“That’s why the paint smelled fresh,”_ Frank thought, writing down the measurements from Brendon. Standing to face Frank, Brendon slung the tape around his shoulders.

“Wish he was still here, though,” Brendon said, smiling wistfully. “Hard to find a homosexual around here.”

Frank’s eyes widened, and Brendon laughed.

“It’s safe here, my friend. We’re the only two in the shop. Well, Hayley’s in the back, but she’s one of us. I don’t hire anyone unless I can sniff out a hint of same-sex attraction,” Brendon explained, running his mouth off so fast Frank’s head began to spin. “We cater to a niche crowd, you see. We do the standard men’s suits and ladies’ dresses, but if a man wants to be fitted for a frock behind his wife’s back, well, what good does it do to turn him away?”

Nodding weakly, Frank stepped back from Brendon. He had never heard someone talk so openly about this. Even during his meeting with Ray, the conversation had shades of both the clinical and the saccharine. Casual small talk never made it into these discussions.

“Besides, many cops come here to be fitted. So most wouldn’t dare throw their best tailor in jail,” Brendon continued. “Most don’t come in for ladies’ clothes, although the ones that do use me as their last resort. I suppose they couldn’t fit into their wives’ clothing at that point.”

Brendon continued talking, his voice running like an engine. Once in a while would Frank glance at the tape, and Brendon would remember to measure him. That happened rarely, which is why Frank was grateful he came in time: getting a damn suit would take forever and five days. 

However, when the process was finally finished, Frank asked for the time. When Brendon told him it was about six, Frank sighed.

“You’ll have my suit ready by twelve, right?” Frank asked. Brendon burst out laughing.

“Oh, dear,” Brendon said, slinging the tape over his shoulders and grabbing the pad from Frank. “You can’t rush perfection.”

Frank’s eyes widened. “I need it by tonight, though. I can’t go on stage in a bunch of goddamn rags.”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t get it done,” Brendon said. “Once I get started on a suit or a dress, I get quite fixated. Besides, you’re not going on for a while, I believe.”

“How the hell do you know?” Frank grumbled. This prompted Brendon to unbutton two buttons on his dress shirt, revealing a string of pearls around his neck. He laughed when Frank couldn’t seem to speak from the shock.

“I usually perform first,” Brendon said, buttoning up his shirt. “To get the crowd going. Then there’s a few other acts, then Gerard tends to be saved for last when the night winds down.”

Nodding, Frank watched as Brendon tucked the pad back into his pocket.

“I should get started on your suit,” Brendon said. “It shouldn’t take too long, because I only need the jacket and the pants, so I’ll just bring them to you when I arrive at the House of Wolves-”

“I’m sorry,” Frank interrupted. “The what?”

Brendon blinked, then laughed. “That’s the name of the speakeasy. They really didn’t tell you?”

Frank shook his head, and Brendon shrugged. “Well, makes sense. Ray’s always been quite cautious around new workers, but he’ll warm up to you soon.”

Before Frank could say anymore, Brendon pointed towards the door.

“I need silence, my good sir,” Brendon said. “If you don’t want anyone kicking your ass for not having a suit in time.”

Shivering at the thought, Frank nodded. “I just need to know what I should pay.”

“You don’t have to,” Brendon said quickly, leaving Frank in shock. Brendon smiled. “You’re in for one helluva ride. The least I can do to make it easier is a suit on the house.”

Not sure if that was uplifting or not, Frank just shifted uneasily. “Right.”

“Now shoo!” Brendon said, turning around. “I have another customer coming in soon.”

Nodding again, Frank turned away, sucking in a breath. He was just hours away from his first foray into the underbelly of New York, and it was too late to even consider second thoughts. Not when a suit was being made especially for these activities.

Looking down at the wooden floors, Frank tried not to let his chewed-up shoes scuff the floor, as if he were a servant in the king’s quarters. Going up to the entrance, Frank didn’t look up to address the next customer. Not until he accidentally bumped into them. 

“Sorry, I just-“ Frank was stopped when he looked up at whoever was there to apologize, until found himself sinking into widened brown eyes, as he remembered them sparkling under the lights in the House of Wolves. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY PRIDE MONTH AHHHHHH (fitting this chapter comes out today then haha)
> 
> anyway, as usual, leave kudos, bookmarks, comments, etc! this chapter was sort of slow, and the next chapter might be as well, butttttt we're heading up to Frank's first performance at the House of Wolves (see what i did there ayyy)
> 
> have a great pride month everybody, and hope you guys keep reading!!!


	4. The Warning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank finally makes it to the House of Wolves for his first night on the job with Gerard. He soon realizes, however, the danger in his decisions.

Frank choked before he found himself being able to speak again. “Gerard. Hi.”

Gerard tilted his head to the side, narrowing his eyes as he leaned down to meet Frank’s gaze, until Frank could smell the cheap shampoo from Gerard’s hair. “Right. It’s good to see you…”

Biting his lip to concentrate, Gerard hesitated before he finally said, “Fred?”

Frank ignored Brendon muffling his laughter in the background. “Frank.”

Honestly, Frank knew he shouldn’t be upset by it. They only met once beforehand, and their interactions were mostly limited to Frank playing the piano. It was only when Gerard stared down at the floor, mumbling what Frank interpreted as an apology, that Frank somehow felt guilty for his own damn name. 

“My bad,” Frank said, internally cursing himself for the choice of words. “Well, blame my mother for choosing ‘Frank’. I’ll let her know someone thinks otherwise.”

As he somehow came up with that sorry excuse for a pseudo-joke, Frank mourned for the loss of any courting abilities he once had. Frank had been out of practice for a while since losing everything, but he didn’t think it was at this level. For God’s sakes, he wasn’t even trying to court the man: just have a regular human interaction, but apparently that was too much to ask for. 

Luckily, Gerard gave Frank a half-smile, lips quivering. “I wish I could think of something witty right now. You have to excuse me, of course, to talk to Brendon.”

Moving past Frank, Frank glared at Brendon. Brendon smirked at Frank as Gerard strode towards him, and they turned away from Frank to the cabinet displaying rolls of fabric. Once again, Frank mumbled curses under his breath: if he couldn’t talk to his coworkers properly, the thought of finding someone to love was out of Frank’s reach. 

After an agonizing minute, Brendon reached under the neckline of his shirt to reveal a key on a chain. He bent down to the drawers underneath the cabinet, unlocking it. Frank looked away, realizing he probably wasn’t supposed to see it, until he heard Brendon laughing.

“God, what do you think this is, a cartel?” Brendon snorted. “Turn around.”

Frank turned his head to see Gerard trying not to smile, as his hands gripped a worn leather suitcase. The suspense drilling itself in Frank’s stomach made him regret not going to law school back when he lived in Belleville.

“Now, off your merry ways!” Brendon said, clapping his hands together. “I’ll meet you too there. Just get a head start while I get ready for my performance.”

Frank blinked, trying to wonder if Brendon was crazy brave or just crazy stupid. “You’re going out on the streets in pearls? You’d get killed before you’d get robbed.”

“I’m not a moron,” Brendon said, rolling his eyes. “Pete and his friends are taking me there in their automobile.”

He shooed Gerard and Frank away. “Now, off you two go. I’ll have to finish your suit, and I need to focus. I’ll bring it to you once I arrive.”

Gerard grabbed Frank’s arm, tugging at it to the exit. Frank didn’t even thank Brendon before Gerard dragged them both outside.

 

\---

 

As Frank began walking with Gerard down the street, streetlights highlighting the cracks in the pavement, he glanced back at Gerard. His hair was tied back into a sloppy ponytail, the kind Jamia attempted to do with her bob. Strands of loose hair encircled the bags under his eyes, dragging downtime skin to reveal the red in his brown eyes. It was only when Gerard looked back that Frank snapped out of his trance.

“Is staring a habit for you?” Gerard asked, trying to suppress a smirk. “It might interfere with your job if you look out at the crowd more than the piano.”

Frank shook his head, glancing out at the street on the other side. Buildings were squashed between each other, the lights on in only a few rooms. “I get distracted.”

“Like Brendon?” Gerard continued. “With the thing he has with focus. He says it’s a defect, or something medical like that.”

“I didn’t know being flighty was now a medical condition,” Frank said, looking back at a now smiling Gerard. “Better not interfere with him making my suit.”

“Oh, he’s like an assembly line when it comes to clothes,” Gerard assured him. “The outfit he made for me in the suitcase? Pulled that off in half a day.”

Frank chuckled. “Don’t think it takes that long to make a suit.”

Frank thought he saw Gerard’s eyes widen in surprise, but Gerard shook his head. “Well. I suppose you’re in for a surprise, then.”

“Believe me,” Frank scoffed, as he kicked away a pebble in the pavement. Breeze passed through his thread-barren shirt, and he tried not to shiver. “I’m quite used to surprises.”

Gerard laughed, and Frank felt himself grow taller at the sound. He glanced back at Gerard, grabbing the cuffs of his shirts, and Gerard came to a stop, facing Frank. 

“I’m just wondering,” Frank asked, looking up and down at Gerard. He regarded the sweater vest, his trembling hands around the suitcase’s handle, and his sunken eyes. “How you ended up in this sort of trade?”

Silence caved in on Frank’s ears until he felt phantom bleeding. The muffled sounds of cars roaring in the distance, going to infinite parties, echoed against the walls they were standing besides. Gerard looked down, biting his chapped lips, and Frank was about to ask if they could drop the issue. It was only until Gerard shook lose of Frank’s grip on his sleeve.

“Over the years,” Gerard finally said, “my soul has grown deep like the rivers.”

Something sparked in Frank, as he remembered whispering those words to himself when picking up a book of poetry during an excursion in Harlem, back when he had money to spend on luxuries like words. 

“Langston Hughes,” Frank said in awe, stopping Gerard from turning around. “You read Langston Hughes?”

Gerard’s eyes widened, and Frank wondered if saying that was a mistake. He backtracked, sputtering out, “Well, I just haven’t met someone who liked him. Or any authors of color, that is. He just taps into something, I guess, that Shakespeare and Dante couldn’t ever unlock in me-“

Frank managed to make himself shut up when Gerard grasped his fidgeting hands. The coldness in Gerard’s nails contrasted with the warmth of the leather handle, and Frank found himself scratched by the bitten-off edges of Gerard’s nails. He ignored the pain when he saw Gerard let himself smile, his tongue pressing against the gap in the front teeth.

“I love him,” Gerard said, biting his lip to keep from smiling any further. “I absolutely adore him, Frank.”

Frank nodded, about to respond, until he squinted his eyes when light came to his way. Him and Gerard looked at the other side of the street: someone was flashing a lamp. The only thing Frank could make out of the darkened silhouette was the beady, flashing eyes that narrowed at the scene that was Frank and Gerard. Coughing, Gerard let go off Frank’s hands, continuing to shuffle across the street until the light from the lamp finally dimmed, leaving Frank to catch up to Gerard. 

Frank looked down at his hands, little red half-moons pressed into his palms by Gerard’s nails. Despite the bare heat from the street lamps above them, Frank still felt cold.

 

\---

 

After they arrived at the barber shop and went inside, Frank glanced at the watch sliding off of Gerard’s wrist: it was a little after nine. Frank cleared his throat to speak up, Gerard looked up at Frank as they navigated their way through the dark.

“Oh, well, I don’t know if Ray told you yet,” Frank stammered. “I think he said I was supposed to be here at twelve.”

Gerard turned his head and continued to the rug in the middle of the room. “It takes me quite a bit to get ready. We also have to practice what we’re performing tonight.”

Making their way to the carpet, Frank nearly tripped on the rolled-up carpet as Gerard opened the hatch door under it. When Frank gathered his senses, Gerard was already halfway down the ladder. Sighing, Frank went down as well, closing the hatch behind them, making sure that his feet weren’t stepping on Gerard’s hands.

When they finally reached the bottom, Gerard opened the door to the House of Wolves, and Frank followed him and closed the door behind them. Narrowing his eyes in the dimly lit room, he was able to make out Ray sitting at the bar area, with a sharply-dressed man behind the bar. He also eyed the few musicians setting up, dressed as well in suits. Frank looked down at his own ratty clothes, and shifted uncomfortably.

“Gerard! Frank!” Ray called, grinning. They both went over to him. “Glad you both made it on time. Frank, you stay by the bar, and Gerard-“

“I’m getting ready,” Gerard said. Ray laughed, putting a hand on Gerard’s shoulder.

“You don’t have to push yourself to make the extra effort,” Ray smiled. “Brendon does that for both him, you, and every other performer combined.”

“I _want_ to, though,” Gerard mumbled. Still laughing, Ray took the hand off. 

“Of course. Anything for the star,” Ray chuckled. He stood from the seat, adjusting his bowtie and tucking back a few strands of hair. “I have to talk to the musicians about something. You go get all dolled up.”

Ray got up to the stage, and Gerard went up the stage to slipping behind the curtains, suitcase in hand. Frank whistled as he turned to the man behind the bar.

“Didn’t know we had extra space behind there,” Frank said, attempting to make conversation. Despite that, the man still stared at Frank, stony-faced. Frank eyed the man’s sharp white dress shirt. His brown hair gelled back to reveal circular spectacles over a hawk-like nose and a jawline that could shank Frank in the back. Frank shivered: even though Ray was cold at first, at least he was cautious as an owner. The man had no excuse.

“Michael,” the man finally said. “Michael Way. My brother calls me Mikey, though.” 

Frank nodded, holding out a hand, and then taking it back when he realized Mikey wasn’t going to shake it. “Right. I’m Frank-“

“I know,” Mikey interrupted, and shrugged when Frank raised an eyebrow at him. “My brother told me about you. You’re our new pianist, right?”

Nodding again, Frank gave a nervous laugh. “I need to know who this brother is now.”

Mikey simply pointed to the curtains, and sighed when Frank looked confused. “It’s Gee. The oneyou walked in with.”

Frank looked back at Mikey, eyes widening, and scanned for any similarities between the two of them. Mikey was all sharp edges and clipped words, and Gerard was all soft and Langston Hughes quotes. There couldn’t be a-

“No damn way!” Frank said, his shock growing when he heard Mikey chuckle.

“We get that a bit,” Mikey said, his smile forming into a smirk. “Until I start the embarrassing childhood stories tirade. I’ll have to pull that card once Gee gets back.”

Frank snorted, taking a seat at the bar. He watched as Mikey fiddled with organizing the glasses. “So, what do you do there? Support Gerard’s shows?”

Mikey smiled. “I’m the bartender. I do support his endeavors, of course.”

Whistling again, Frank looked back at the curtains. “Then in that case, pour me a gin and tonic. Do I need to pay?”

“Yes,” Mikey said, and rolled his eyes at Frank’s shock. “Supplies are both limited and expensive. We can’t just pour a round to every employee whenever they want.”

“I got the suit for free, though,” Frank said. “I’d say a suit’s more expensive than some amber liquid any day.”

“That’s because it’s _Brendon_ who supplies the suits,” Mikey sighed. “I shouldn’t have to tell you who gathers the booze.”

Frank froze as he remembered. Mikey noticed this, and sighed, the sharp lines in his face softening in pity.

“Look, Frank. You seem like a swell guy,” Mikey said, leaning over the counter as he lowered his voice to a whisper. “And I know I can’t give you booze. However, I can give you some advice.”

Seeing Frank nod hesitantly, Mikey continued. 

“It’ll be so damn easy to slip into the routine of this kind of work,” Mikey said, and Frank looked around at the scene before him of Ray laughing with the musicians. “You’ll find friends - hell, maybe even a lover if you’re lucky - and soon the twelve to six hours start looking like nine to five hours.”

Frank glanced back at Mikey, the light reflected off of his glasses. “As comfortable as you get in this line of work, just remember this: be careful about the people you decide to latch on too around here.”

Mikey grabbed the cuffs of Frank’s sleeve. “These people that found you? Pay you to work in a tolerant environment? Those same people won’t hesitate to shoot you if you fuck up.”

Letting go of Frank, Mikey assumed his default grim expression, and grabbed the dishrag. The squeaking of the dishrag against the shot glasses rang in Frank’s ears as Frank looked back at Ray by the stage.

“Don’t worry Ray,” Mikey assured. “He gives the space. It’s the bosses you have to be careful about.”

“Of course I’m careful,” Frank said, attempting to force a laugh to ease any tension. “I’m always careful.”

_“You got fired from your damn job because of suspicions,”_ Frank thought, as he pinched his temple. _“And walking down the street with Gerard? It was him that let go of you. Not you.”_

Frank ignored those thoughts as he looked back up at Mikey. 

“But,” Frank said, attempting not to show this thoughts. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Mikey nodded, and patted Frank’s fidgeting hand.

“If you need any more advice, I’m always here,” Mikey said. “You need anything else?”

Looking up at Mikey, Frank glared at him.

“After that spiel,” Frank sighed, “Now I really need a goddamn drink.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi hi hi!!! finally the action's starting to pick up!!! god i think im more excited about this than my lovely, lovely readers that have somehow stuck with me this far??? wow??? thank you so much for supporting me and my shit writing???
> 
> anyway, just wanted to take a moment to thank you guys for reading! i always say to give kudos and shit but seriously tho i appreciate anyone still reading this!!! keep on being rad guys


	5. The Performance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank goes to the House of Wolves to play the piano, and sees all the performances. Only one singer really catches his eye, though.

When Gerard finished getting ready, his face matte with powdered foundation as they practiced together before opening, he went back behind the curtains to finish. What he had to finish doing, Frank had no clue. Then Brendon had arrived with a suitcase, lips bright red as he slung the pearls over his shoulder.

“Here’s your suit, hon,” Brendon said, flashing a grin as he handed over the suitcase. Frank glared at Brendon - the time was nearly eleven-thirty.

“You’ll get dressed in thirty minutes,” Brendon said, voice lowering to a grumble. “I’ll get ready in the back. Make sure you stay outside to see my act.”

Before Frank could say anything, Brendon went to the stage to get behind the curtains. Sighing, Frank threw a look to Mikey, who held back a snort as he continued talking to Ray by the counter. However, when Frank looked back at the door, four men entered. Frank’s eyes widened at who one of the men were.

They were all dressed in identical suits: black, with shining black oxfords and deep purple ties tucked under their buttoned suit jackets. As they all took off their hats, Frank was able to see their faces a bit more clearly. Frank watched as the stout, orange-haired man adjusted his spectacles, turning to whisper to the the tall bearded man when they saw Frank. The bearded man’s sleeves lifted to reveal ink lining his wrists, and Frank could only suspect the man had turned himself into a mural under the suit. Good tattoos were expensive, and Frank had no clue where to find them as he wasn’t a sailor, so he stewed in jealousy. He then turned to see a man with golden-hued skin with slicked back black hair grin as he approached Ray, who visibly stiffened when Mikey looked down. Frank’s eyes widened: he didn’t want to mess with anyone who made Mikey, out of all people, cower.

The final shock was seeing the fourth man: a curly-haired, stubbled young man whose face lit up when he saw Frank, who could only place the man in front of a failing deli.

“Frank!” Joe grinned. “So good to see you.”

Frank’s jaw hung, and he tried to find the correct words. “I - you - Joe, what the hell?”

Joe laughed as he leaned in to whisper to Frank.

“I get it,” Joe whispered. “How else would I have a connection to this joint, though?”

“You own a fucking deli, Joe!” Frank whispered back, his voice turning shrill with shock. He now knew how Jamia felt that night he came home late. “You don’t do this!”

“It’s a little extra money, Frank,” Joe said, rolling his eyes. “We all need security.”

Pulling away from Frank, Joe glanced down at the suitcase.

“I should let you get ready,” Joe said. “We’ll discuss further when the night is over.”

He left Frank to talk with the other two men, leaving Frank to recover mentally before gathering himself to the backstage area.

 

\---

 

After finding a corner to get dressed in (where Frank had to give credit to Brendon - the suit did fit fine, even if a few rushed stitches were off), Frank was called out by Ray. Poking his head through the curtains, he saw Ray on the stage.

“We need your ass on the piano bench,” Ray said. “People will be coming in soon.”

Frank nodded as Ray smiled in response, turning away to the bar area again. Leaving the curtains and heading to the far left of the stage, he sat down by the piano bench, realizing he’d have to get used to the stiff cushioning soon. 

“Frank, right?” said one of them. He turned around to see four people: the cornet player, the trumpet player, the saxophone player, the clarinet player, the drums player, and the trombone player, all dressed in the same navy blue suit Frank was wearing, including the young woman with a crimson lip and hair slicked and tied back. 

Frank nodded, and the one who said it (the man with bleached hair by the drums) introduced them all. Though it was hard to keep track of, Frank learned that the man on the drums was called Joshua, the man playing the clarinet was his friend, Tyler, the trombone player was Spencer, the cornet player was Dallon, the man with the trumpet was Gabe, and the young woman with the red lips on sax was known as Lindsey.

“You can call me what you want, though,” Lindsey purred. “For a price.”

She burst out laughing at Frank recoiling back to his piano, and the rest of the band grinned, except for a sympathetic Dallon. He had hoisted his cornet on his shoulder carefully in order to pat Frank’s shoulder. 

“Lindsey does this to all the new band members,” Dallon explained, the mint in his breath wafting in Frank’s direction. “She doesn’t mean it, so don’t worry about it.”

Frank looked back at Lindsey, who gave an over-exaggerated wink in Frank’s direction, leading to more laughter from the band. Dallon gave a look to Frank, but Frank shrugged. If Frank could handle Jamia, he sure as hell could handle Lindsey as a coworker. 

 

\--- 

 

The bar had opened up with less commotion than Frank had expected. He watched as the bar began to gradually fill with patrons, despite playing the piano along with the rest of the band at the same time. Fortunately, he looked to see that the music when there wasn’t performances were simple tunes, so he could look up without missing a key. Well-dressed young men and short-skirted young women (or men in dresses and women in suits: Frank couldn’t tell among the youthful androgyny) gathered in the vast tables and dancing area or the bar. They all were smiling, laughing softly under the slivers of light from the fixtures around the speakeasy. Despite craning his neck to see how Mikey was handling the influx of customers, Frank couldn’t see among all the people dancing around the tables. Their laughter was rising above the music, so Frank had to look back at his sheet music to see if he was in place. 

Finally, as the music became white noise to Frank as his fingers moved automatically with each note from the cornet, tap from the drums, and more, he suddenly stopped when he couldn’t hear anyone else play. He looked up to see Ray on stage, calling for the audience’s attention. He grabbed the microphone in the middle of the stage, the whine of feedback making Frank squirm in his seat. 

“Ladies, gentleman, and those who arouse peculiarity in their appearance,” Ray started, his low voice swelling as he started to grin. “May I please welcome the charismatic, enigmatic performer we have tonight? She is bold, beautiful, and big fun: let’s all give a hand to Miss Jacqueline Silver!”

The audience went wild, as if they knew what was to come. Frank didn’t understand the commotion until he turned to see Brendon burst through the curtains. Unlike the suit from before, he was now clad in a form-fitting, floor length white dress, the plunging neckline covered by a string of pearls resting on a fake, white mink fur boa that slunk behind Brendon. His dark hair was replaced by a tightly curled blonde wig, with still impeccable makeup.

“I know,” Spencer whispered to Frank. Frank turned to see the growing smirk on Spencer’s face. “What a knockout.”

Frank turned back to his sheet music, the ringing in his ears growing louder as the audience grew silent with anticipation. Hearing the click of heels as red as his lipstick on the stage, he heard a breathe from Brendon as he approached the microphone. 

“Before you, my whole life was acapella,” Brendon started, his voice taking on a higher lilt as Frank rushed to turn the pages of his sheet music, playing along with the rest of the band. The lilting notes of the notes made Frank raise his head to see Brendon, as the audience began to whistle when Brendon bent down to grin at a starstruck patron. After dipping down, he went back up, bending and going up with such exaggerated movements that Frank could’ve mistaken him for a silent film star. Despite that, the ridiculous nature of Brendon somehow worked, as Brendon twirled in his dress, the mink fur encircling him. His voice swelled in the room, belting like a jazz star and turning the slow song quick with the precision only a scat-singer could master. 

The song had finished with Frank’s extra few notes, like he did with Gerard, earning a few raised eyebrows from the rest of the band. Brendon attempted to compete with Frank by holding out the last note, until they finished at the same time. Frank glanced up to get a wink from Brendon, and Frank suppressed a smile. 

Brendon’s performance had a few more songs, Frank flying through each of them as he made sure he kept in time with the band. Occasionally, Frank would look up to find Brendon go as far into the audience as he could, flourishing among the stares he got from ogling customers. The closest he ever got was twirling a lock of hair of a young man who was right near the stage, and Frank nearly laughed when he saw that the man looked like he would pass out after. Finally, once Brendon had finished his set, Frank cracked his knuckles during the applause so no one would hear. 

“I love you all!” Brendon grinned, blowing a kiss to the audience. “Every last one of your sweet asses!”

Swinging his hips, Brendon went back into the curtains, and Frank and the rest of the band resumed the white noise Frank had gone accustomed to earlier. Looking to his left, he saw Josh focusing on the drums. Since he was the only one who could use his mouth while playing, Frank leaned in to Josh’s direction.

“What’s the routine like here?” Frank whispered, Josh’s head tilting up to him. “We play music, there’s a performer, and we go back to the music?”

“I suppose,” Josh replied, shrugging. “We have two left tonight: Laura Jane once everything’s in full swing, and Gerard once things begin to settle down.”

Frank nodded as a thank you, and once again, lulled in the dull background jazz. He wistfully looked out into the audience, and pictured him and Jamia dancing around the tables, sparkling under the light fixtures, giddy on champagne and rebellion.

Despite that, Frank did enjoy the performers. Brendon was a delight, and but Laura Jane nearly knocked Frank off the bench. Her hair was tied back behind her head, dressed in a deep-green suit with a sprig of violets in the jacket’s front pocket. She strode up to the microphone, a smirk playing on her lips, the audience crushed by the pressure of anticipation. Finally, out of nowhere, Frank scrambled to start playing once Laura Jane broke out in a killer scat solo, until it devolved into an obscure little jazz song Frank heard once or twice in the other Harlem clubs. Despite that, Frank banged on the keys to match the intensity in Laura Jane’s voice, the rest of band easily catching up to her. The audience began to get up and dance, less mesmerized like they were with Brendon, and more energized than anything else. 

Laura Jane finished with a two-minute scat solo, which Frank would’ve thought as boring if it wasn’t Laura Jane doing it. The audience was just as captivated, cheering her on despite the end never seeming near. When she finished, she didn’t even say goodbye to the audience: all she had to do was give a little laugh and a wink, and both men and women in the club nearly fainted in their seats. 

Frank nodded at Laura Jane as she walked back, and she gave him a thumbs-up. Before they started playing again, he heard Lindsey lean in to whisper, “Never seen her that impressed by a band before. Respect.”

Nodding back, Frank grinned, looking back out at the audience. Even if the audience wasn’t applauding directly at him, he helping supply the incentive to praise in the end. 

 

\---

 

As the night went on, the customers seemed to wind down. More patrons seemed to gravitate towards the bar, idly taking sips of their vodka tonics, and the few still dancing just swayed back and forth, more embracing each other in their lovers’ arms than looking for a thrill. Frank found himself growing tired as well, but something seemed to sting him inside. He focused on two men in the corner, moving back and forth, enveloped in each others’ arms. They seemed unaware of being in the way of some tables, or the wrinkles in their suits: the smell of wine wafted over them as they looked up at each other to laugh, the shorter man tucking his head in the taller one’s neck. Frank kept playing, but a longing to be one of them was still a pang in the pit of his stomach. 

People began leaving the bar gradually, but the few that stayed still made the room rumble with their whispers. Finally, as Frank saw Frank climb up on stage and the rest of the musicians getting up to go to the bar, he stretched out his fingers. 

“I know the night’s slowing down,” Ray said, as he glanced over at Frank. “But I still want the few still here to welcome our last singer: the elusive Miss Gee.”

The patrons perked up as Frank began playing Cole Porter, like what was practiced earlier. He heard the clicking of heels on the floor, and Frank looked up to see Gerard, wondering how Gerard looked like out of a lumpy sweater vest and in a fitted suit instead. Instead, Frank’s jaw fell when he saw someone who was somehow Gerard, but not.

This person had the same softened facial structure, but the features were heightened with a deep purple lipstick, messy kohl lining the eyes. Dressed in a slinky, fringed black dress that hugged the singer’s curves, the skirt went down to the knees to show off little black heels. Black hair was brushed into a bob as the stranger went up to the microphone. It was only when the person started singing Cole Porter, that same song Gerard and Frank practiced, that Frank could recognize the sultry lilts. It was Gerard, but stripped of grease and Hughes and mumbling.

Despite the shock, Frank went on playing, occasionally looking up to see Gerard smile idly at a transfixed audience. They weren’t attracted to him like they were with Brendon, or dancing like with Laura Jane. It was pure hypnosis, as if Gerard’s voice was a shining pendulum swinging back and forth, and the audience refused to leave until Gerard was finished. Frank looked back at his sheet music after he saw Gerard bend down slightly with the microphone, more naturally than Brendon did, to offer a mesmerized customer a small giggle.

This continued for a few other songs: slow songs for couples to dance or drink to. Frank almost wished all the customers here earlier could hear Gerard, but realized they might have been too drunk on champagne and love to actually hear him. The average patron wouldn’t detect the running in the end notes, the way his chest swelled at the lower notes, how Gerard’s body lifted at the higher notes as if he were attached to a string. All those moments somehow made the song… More. Even if Cole Porter was there, Frank would still choose to listen to Gerard.

As the night wound down and Frank was playing the last song, the clapping was sparse, the whistling still occurring, but the staring was constant; even as Gerard went back behind the curtains. However, before Gerard went back to the curtains, he took a detour, leaning over the piano. Frank could see a dot of dark purple on Gerard’s teeth, but that somehow added to the half-done charm.

_“Good job,”_ Gerard whispered to Frank, before he disappeared behind the curtains. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!!! Sorry for posting a day late, I was at Carnegie Hall for some writing award thing on Thursday, so it was hard to write then and post on Friday. I'll make sure to keep up this time!!!
> 
> Anyway, thanks to everyone who's still reading!!!!


	6. The Association

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank meets Pete, and gets mixed reviews on his character.

The last patron had left (after some prodding from Ray, as the customer had nearly been blacked-out-drunk), Frank could finally let his fingers stretch. He stumbled out of the bench, his lower half almost numb, and made his way to the bar area with the rest of the musicians.

“Got the time?” Frank yawned. His sight had been pulsating, unable to focus on one person at a time. He only looked up to glance at Dallon, who looked at his watch, and answered, “Five. In the morning.”

Frank groaned, rubbing his temples and resting his head on the other hand. “Fuck, Mikey, think you can fix me a drink now?”

“We all feel like shit,” Lindsey said, as she leaned over to rub Frank’s back. “You get used to it.”

The rest of the musicians grumbled in agreement, and Frank let his forehead rest against the cool countertop surface of the bar, the droplets of leftover whiskey staining his forehead. He hoped he’d be able to get drunk off of that alone. Frank nearly fell asleep like that, until he thought he heard someone call out his name. He looked up to see the rest of the band scramble out of their seats, and looked forward to find Mikey a little too preoccupied with cleaning the glasses with a dishrag. It was only when he nearly yelped after a slap on the back, causing him to stand up straight. Frank glanced over to find one of the suited men that came with Brendon and Joe: the tanned one, with his natural curled slicked back with gel.

“You did well tonight, Frankie,” the man said, and winced at Frank’s condition. “Good God, man, did you even eat?” 

Frank was now aware of the pangs in his stomach. Maybe that wasn’t the longing for a partner: it was just literal hunger.

“I’d order you a drink, but it’s no good getting drunk on an empty stomach,” the man continued, and he set his hat on the counter. He held out his hand. “Call me Pete.”

Nodding, Frank made a weak attempt at a handshake. “Right. Pete. I’d give a better handshake, but I’m quite fatigued.”

“I wish I could relate, but at this point, I think I’ve lost the ability to sleep.”

Frank raised an eyebrow, causing Pete to laugh and explain. “I grew up in Chicago, in the slums. You learn to keep on your toes at a very young age in those conditions. Plus, with my line of work, it’s better to stay alert than to take any risk and relax.”

Pete took a pause, and started to laugh. “I suppose that served me good in my later years. A few smuggling rings and speakeasies later, I’ve managed to run operations like these under the guise of anonymity.”

“Impressive,” Frank managed, because he had no idea what to say. If this man was the type of person Mikey had taken about earlier, he didn’t want to pry into anything. The best he could do was to butter him up. “I’m just thankful I was given a job here. It’s been rough-“

“- Ever since you were outed as a homosexual?” Pete finished. He waved off Frank’s widening eyes. “Don’t worry. The whole city doesn’t know. Joe told me.”

“Feels like everyone does,” Frank said, his laugh tinged with bitterness. “I’m capable of a lot, you know, but no one pays any mind because of what they think of me. Fucking unfair, that’s what it is.”

Pete nodded, pulling Frank up by the collar. “I get what you mean.”

Frank looked confused, and Pete sighed, starting to continue. He looked forward, and Frank could see the fiery gold flecks in Pete’s eyes dance in the reflection of the shot glasses. “I was like you, you know: I was a smart kid. No one wanted to give a colored kid work, though: not even in Chicago.”

Frank’s jaw slacked, and Pete laughed again. “Only half. Momma was from Jamaica; never knew my daddy. All she knows about him was that he must’ve been white as lily for someone like me to be made.”

Pete ran a hand through his hair, and Frank could see the curls form again. “When I went to get a job, no one knew if I should work at a colored establishment, or a white one. All that left was this sort of work, but I couldn’t even find a gang to work for: no one knew if they could trust my ‘duplicitous complexion’, as someone once called it. So I made my own little gang, and boy, do the other gangs wish they could’ve snatched me then!”

Frank nodded, and a smile quirked on his lips at Pete’s laugh. “That’s why I get you, Frankie. We’re outcasts in a world of outcasts. All we can do is dig away from the light, and hope we manage underground.”

Another slap on the back made Frank nearly yelp, but he forced a smile as he looked up at Pete, who was gathering his hat and climbing out of his seat. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Pete. Are you coming around tomorrow?”

“Lord, no,” Pete smiled. “Just wanted to talk to the new kid.”

With that, he left the bar, going back to the rest of the gang by the other table. Only when Pete was out of earshot did Mikey tap Frank’s shoulder. Frank looked up at Mikey, and found him pursing his lips as he looked over to Pete.

“Don’t trust him,” Mikey whispered, as he leaned into Frank. “He’s pulling you into something dangerous.”

“He seems like a nice fellow,” Frank said. “Not someone I’d choose to leisure with first, but a nice enough fellow anyway.”

“That’s because you think he gets you,” Mikey hissed. “That’s what he does. He doesn’t exploit your weaknesses: he shares them.”

Frank nodded, but resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “How would you know?”

A pained look strained on Mikey’s face, but it was replaced by his default stony expression. “We were associates once. Let’s leave it at that.”

 

\---

 

As the workers began to file out (first the musicians, then Laura and Brendon, then Pete’s gang), the only ones left were Frank and Mikey (now silent since their last exchange), Gerard (who was still washing up), and Ray. A lone brown leather satchel was slung across the back of one of the chairs. Frank wondered if anyone would ever come back for it.

Frank felt someone lightly tap on his shoulder, and glanced behind him to see Gerard, now dressed in his usual rumpled clothes, face red from scrubbing off last night’s makeup. Frank blinked, wondering how Miss Gee was trapped inside him. 

“You were wonderful last night,” Frank said. Gerard’s mouth opened and closed, until he could only look up at Mikey.

“I’ll take Frank back to his place,” Gerard told Mikey, and Mikey sighed.

“Here I was, waiting for you, like a good younger brother…” Mikey grumbled, before his face broke out into a slight smile. “Don’t worry. From the looks of him, I’m sure Frank would appreciate a guide home.”

Frank only groaned in response, and stumbled out of the bar stool. He heard someone sigh in the background. “Come along, Frank. I got to open up shop soon.”

Turning around to see Ray, Frank snorted. “The club’s going on a few more hours?”

“I run a barber’s shop by day, in case you didn’t see the sign in the window,” Ray said, getting out of his seat and going up to Mikey. “I have to make a living somehow, you know.”

Frank leaned on Gerard as he came out of the seat, yawning. “Go give haircuts to all the little boys and girls in the world, Ray. I’ll be back, same time tomorrow.”

“You better,” Ray said, as Gerard managed to drag Frank away from the bar and to the entrance. “Didn’t get you a free suit for nothing.” 

 

\---

 

Once Frank and Gerard left the bar, they found themselves outside of the barber’s shop. Gerard took Frank’s arm, Frank’s feet dragging on the pavement. He ignored the scuffing on his shoes, and pinched at his temple.

“I feel God-awful,” Frank bemoaned. “And I have to do this every night?”

“Those who do this full-time do,” Gerard said. “Unless you want a night off.”

Sighing, Frank managed to look up, ignoring how the street signs seemed to duplicate in his vision. “I need the money.”

Gerard laughed in response, as they turned a corner. The debilitated buildings they had once encountered in this side of Harlem seemed to build up, as they made their way out. “You get used to it. God knows I had to.”

“And you look _great_ ,” Frank said, sarcastically drawling out the “great”. “A goddamn movie star, if I may say so myself.”

“That’s why I needed makeup,” Gerard whispered, eying the people coming out of their apartments to check the mail. “No one wants a performer that looks like they’ve been dragged to Hell to dance for the Devil.”

“We’re already in Hell,” Frank said, drawing out a snort from Gerard. “Plus, I was mostly just impressed with Miss Gee. How on Earth did you manage to turn into that knock-out?”

“Implying I’m not already a knock-out?” Gerard grinned. “I used to practice when I was younger. Never thought I’d have to use it one day professionally, but here we are.”

Frank stood up straight, pointing at Gerard’s grin. “There she is! The elusive, seductive, other words that end in ‘-ive’ Miss Gee!”

Gerard stopped walking for a moment, nearly frozen as he glanced back and forth for people. His lips were tightened into a thin line as he walked again, leaning into Frank to whisper, “Don’t mention her when we’re in public.”

Nodding, Frank balled his fists in guilt as he noticed the fear in Gerard’s eyes. “Right. Sorry. I get it.”

“I know,” Gerard said, but Frank knew he was lying. Playing the piano wasn’t the same as turning into a woman, and Frank knew that. “Thank you, though. Don’t know how seductive I can be in a sweater vest, though.”

Gerard laughed again, his giggles interrupted by the occasional snort, and Frank could see the sunrise melt in his eyes. The windows in the buildings reflected the reds and oranges of the sun back into the brown of Gerard’s eyes, as the pink tones within the sunrise became flush in his cheeks.

“Frank?” Gerard said, and Frank blinked. “You seem distracted.”

“Right,” Frank stammered, as he scrambled to think of another topic. He nodded when he remembered Mikey’s warning. “I just have a question.”

“Go for it.”

“What do you think of Pete?” Frank asked, and Gerard bit his lip in contemplation. His eyes grew stormy in thought, so Frank had no clue what to make of this reaction.

“Fine fellow,” Gerard finally said. “He was always civil to me when we talked. It’s just how Mikey reacts to him that makes me suspicious.”

Frank raised an eyebrow. “Suspicious?”

“Yes,” Gerard answered, and he took in another breath, hesitating to speak. “I’m not sure how much Mikey wants me to say, though.”

“Isn’t it your job to embarrass him?” Frank smirked. “You are brothers.”

“This seems different,” Gerard said, as they passed the sheets hanging over nearly shut-down restaurants, items behind them for a last hurrah sale. “They were… Friends, let’s put it this way.”

“Friends?” Frank repeated. “Was Mikey associated with his line of work?”

Gerard shook his head. “God, no. He never wanted to get involved in this sort of lifestyle.”

“Then how the hell did he end up pouring drinks for-“

Frank winced as Gerard pinched his side, pointing to the windows in the apartment buildings. Understanding, Frank nodded, and Gerard continued in a lowering voice.

“We left home together,” Gerard explained. “I found myself in this job, and Mikey thought it’d be best to watch over me. Then he met Pete, and they-“

Gerard stopped himself from going any further, causing Frank to sigh. “Mikey would murder me if you brought any of this up to him.”

“I’m very discreet.”

Scoffing, Gerard put on an exaggerated New Jersey accent, saying, ““Then how the hell did he end up pouring drinks for-“, then stopped himself. Frank suppressed a smile at the imitation, and shrugged.

“I get it,” Frank said. “Continue.”

Gerard nodded, and he ran a hand through his hair, eyes darting from one dimmed lamppost to thenext. “They had a falling out, and they discontinued their association with one another. That’s all I really know, of course, because Mikey shuts down whenever I try to pry. He only told me one thing, though, and left it at that.”

Gerard leaned in to Frank, so close that Frank could see the breeze flutter through his eyelashes. They continued walking, Frank glancing over at people in the windows across the street from them. He wondered if they’d relay whatever was whispered in the winds back to Pete and his gang.

“Pete’s a good man,” Gerard whispered to Frank, “with the capabilities to do very bad things.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh hello everybody! so uh here's the thing
> 
> im in sweden on vacation for a week, so the chapters this week are gonna get fucked bc of the different time zones. im gonna try to keep things on track tho
> 
> anyway, thank you to everyone who's still reading! hope yall like this pete-centric chapter haha


	7. The Payment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank lies to his best friend, but the money makes up for it. Possibly.

As the week progressed, Gerard and the band proved correct: Frank did get used to it. Over the week, he established a routine that both didn’t arouse suspicions from Jamia, and let Frank do his job at the same time: while Jamia was out of the house during the day, he’d sleep and eat. When night fell and Jamia went to bed, he’d sneak out of the house. Despite Frank living like a vampire, he’d promise himself that once he had enough money, him and Sweet Pea would move out of Jamia’s, so he wouldn’t have an incident like the night he came back after the first night on the job.

When Frank trudged upstairs that night, he found Jamia sitting with Sweet Pea on the couch. Once she let Sweet Pea go to lick Frank’s shoes, he picked her up, hesitantly approaching Jamia. She was tapping her foot on the hardwood floor, the clicks of her heels echoing across the room. Though she was angry, she still appeared polished and ready for work.

“You said you’d be back,” was all Jamia said, but Frank knew there was more. She couldn’t even look up at him. The sunlight poured in from a window behind her, its rays framing her into a dark silhouette. Frank scratched the back of his head, looking away.

“You didn’t wait all night, did you?” Frank asked. Jamia raised an eyebrow at him.

“I just woke up to find you gone,” Jamia said. She stood up, and Frank instinctively lowered himself before her. She was always taller than him, and her heels did nothing to change that. “Just tell me where you were.”

“I-“ Frank started, but Jamia brushed past him to the kitchen counter, and Frank could her coffee being poured into a mug. He turned around, glaring at her as they stood across from each other, the counter separating the two of them.

“Are you going to listen?” Frank hissed, and Jamia shrugged, taking a purposefully-long sip from her mug, When she was done, she grabbed a napkin from the end of the counter, lightly dabbing it on her mouth, staining a faint nude from her lipstick.

“Depends if I can trust you,” Jamia said, and Frank sighed. All he wanted was to close his eyes and crash on the couch, but the world hadn’t granted him that, at the very least. In his frustration, he leaned on the counter, trying not to yawn.

“I’m your friend. Of course you can trust me.”

“Really?” Jamia replied, her voice going up an octave. Despite her collected expression, her movements grew stiffer, her voice higher. “I was there for you when you got sick. I didn’t stray when you told me your secrets. I planned and actually followed through in running away to New York with you. I let you stay with me when the world finally had the sense to kick you in the ass. Do you know the only thing I’ve ever asked in return, Frank?”

“You want money? Is that what it is?” Frank said, annoyed at Jamia rolling her eyes. “Want me to get down on my knees for forgiveness? The fuck do you want from me-“

“Trust,” Jamia finally said, leaving Frank to stay still, his face falling in realization. “I want to trust you, and you can’t even give me that.”

Frank looked down at his hands: they were sore from playing the piano, and difficult to move due to the cramping. He could see a phantom imprint in his pinky from Jamia’s pinky, and saw it fade when he realized he broke his promise to her.

“I’ll tell you the truth,” Frank said, and Jamia glanced up at him, nodding her head to indicate him to go on. “You with me?”

Once Jamia finally nodded again, Frank took in a breath. “I got a job.”

Jamia’s eyes widened, and Frank struggled to force a smile, his lips quivering as his stomach sank. “I’m a security guard. For this beautiful office in downtown Manhattan. They gave me the night shift, so I had to stay over.”

Breaking out into a slight smile, Jamia approached Frank. Though her smile was controlled, Frank knew it was genuine, from the way her cheeks grew pink under the foundation she wore, and her eyes grew wide, lined with kohl. His heart broke as he nodded his head, approaching her as her guard let down.

“It’s a start,” Frank continued, his mind going frantic with what to say next. “The pay is mediocre, but it’s a start. And I’ll save enough money for my own place soon.”

Frank searched through her expression and body language for any sign of doubt in him: a withdrawal as he went towards her, looking to the floor, biting her lip, anything. Either she was an idiot or a good liar, because Frank couldn’t find anything. 

_“No,”_ Frank chided himself in his head. _“Not an idiot. Just a good friend. The only idiot in here just so happens to be you.”_

He didn’t let his thoughts overlap in his actions, as he continued to smile for Jamia, letting her go to him. Frank could feel his brain pulse, neurons sparking and short-circuiting with champagne from last night and whatever building he invented in downtown Manhattan.

“So I’ll be gone most nights,” Frank said. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want to reveal anything until I was sure.”

Jamia laughed as she took Frank’s hands, squeezing them until they were red. Though he didn’t mind, as the grasp released the tension in his joints, he pulled them away teasingly. She laughed again, bouncing in her heels.

“I’m sure if I gave them your medical history,” Jamia said, a smirk playing on her lips, “they’d fire you faster than meat on a grill.”

“Meat on a grill?” Frank repeated, not being able to help himself from snorting. “I didn’t know that I had a sudden Southern belle in my midst.”

Laughing, Jamia pulled Frank into a hug, squeezing his back, as she said, “I’m just elated, Frank. Absolutely elated!”

Frank hugged her back, grateful she could see the fear looming over him.

 

\---

 

The week had went on as usual, and Frank became grateful that he didn’t see Jamia as often as before. Every time they happened to run into each other in the house, when he came back in the morning and she was leaving for work, she’d always demand stories from his exciting new career as a pretend security guard. When the week was finished, he had not only made up a the job and the building in Manhattan, but also a coworker called Bernie. Frank assured her that no, he wasn’t glancing at her copy of _Bernice Bobs her Hair_ on the coffee table while he told her about him.

If Frank was told as a child that he would be glad to stray away from Jamia, he would’ve assumedwhoever told him was lying, even if it happened to be Frank from the future. If he was further told he’d find any company besides Jamia, he would’ve know what to do, because he never even considered that possibility. Yet, by the week’s end, he found himself sitting with a stony-faced bartender and someone who described himself as a female impersonator

It was before opening, and Frank tapped his fingernails on the bar’s surface, tuning out what Mikey and Brendon were talking about. He wondered when he was going to get paid, because there had to be some purpose to his lying.

“Gentlemen?” he interrupted, and Mikey glanced at Frank before going back to wiping off the countertop. Brendon tilted his head towards Frank. At this point, Frank was used to seeing Brendon in a full face of makeup and women’s clothing. Tonight he was supposed to be assisting Laura Jane in a burlesque routine, and Frank could see the outline of a black bustier under his flowing, deep red dress. His wig was off to the side, so his once-gelled hair was now scruffy, curling under his fake diamond earrings. “I hope I don’t sound impatient, but-“

“When are you getting paid?” Brendon finished. Before Frank could say anything, Brendon finished. “I asked that too, when I first came on board. It’s weekly. Since you started on a Monday, you’re getting paid on Sunday.”

“So, tonight?” Frank asked, perking up slightly. He leaned forward, trying not to appear too eager. “How do they deliver it? Since I presume they don’t know our addresses.”

“They might,” Brendon said, and Frank’s stomach began to turn. “Usually Ray hands it out at the end of the night. Sometimes Pete or one of his friends, if they stop by.”

“Right. We talked. He seems okay.”

Even though he didn’t say anything, Frank could feel Mikey’s glare burning into him. Brendon and Frank turned to Mikey, who was gripping the dishrag so tightly, suds dripped over the countertop, droplets spilling over the edge.

“Mikey?” Frank asked hesitantly. “Did I offend you in some way?”

Frank looked over at Brendon, expecting to see him suppress a laugh at the situation Frank got himself into. However, Frank saw Brendon narrowing his eyes at Mikey, eyebrows furrowed in annoyance.

“Didn’t I tell you about Pete?” Mikey said, lowering his voice no one one but Brendon and Frank could hear. “If he pays tonight, try not to engage with him-“

“Pete’s a good guy,” Brendon said, focusing his glare on Mikey. “You don’t need to influence Frank’s opinion on him because of your perceptions.”

“Perceptions?” Mikey said incredulously, and paused before sighing. “Fine. Think of it that way.”

As Mikey went back to furiously scrubbing the countertop, Frank turned to Brendon. Though Frank knew there was some sort of personal history between Mikey and Pete, Frank wanted to know what Brendon thought of Pete.

“How do you know Pete?” Frank asked, and a sheepish smile played on Brendon’s lips. He leaned his head on his hand, looking off into space.

“Me and someone else left Salt Lake City for New York years ago,” he explained. “We busked, see, on the streets for money. Pete approached us one day when we were performing, and told us he knew where we could work. He hired us here, and the rest is history.”

Frank nodded. That was why Brendon felt comfortable enough to drive with someone like Pete. 

“Mikey’s just overprotective,” Brendon further went on, flipping a curl back over his ear. “He thinks all gangsters are going to corrupt him or Gerard or something. It’s absolutely ridiculous, you know, and-“

“Who was this someone?” Frank asked, curiosity taking over. “That you travelled with.”

Once again, Frank saw Brendon’s playful smirk crack, his lips quivering as they fell. It was the same crack Frank saw back in the tailor shop, piquing Frank’s curiosity further. Silence fell over them, leaving Frank cold: he was unused to not hearing Brendon’s voice too long, because he was always talking when he was in the vicinity of Brendon.

“He was a friend,” Brendon finally said, looking down at the table, applying and taking off a fake red nail on his pinky repeatedly. “It doesn’t matter now.”

Before Frank could further ask, Brendon got up from the seat as he saw Dallon and Spencer from the band approach him. Frank observed Brendon distract himself with them, plastering on another smile. Dallon and Spencer started laughing at something Brendon said, and Frank turned around, now watching Mikey wipe the countertop. Frank looked down to see his reflection in the bar’s countertop, shining from cheap soap: he looked different. He didn’t know how, though. 

 

\---

 

At the end of the night, Frank found himself laying his head on the piano keys, the discordant sound ringing throughout the emptying bar. 

“Damn, hon, I didn’t know you did original songs!” Brendon grinned, as he approached Frank and lifted him up by his collar. Frank looked up to see Brendon’s nose wrinkle.

“You’re not wearing the same suit you wore yesterday, right?”

“And every other night I’ve worked here,” Frank said, chuckling sheepishly. “My friend thinks it’s a uniform for my job as a security guard.”

“You didn’t credit me?” Brendon said, sucking in a fake gasp as he clutched his pearls. Frank could only snort, getting up from his bench and stretched his back. He glanced at the top of the room, where he could hear some shuffling. Raising an eyebrow at Brendon, they both walked off the stage. Going towards a table, they sat behind Laura Jane and Gerard, and Frank nearly laughed at the pair: while Laura Jane was still in her natural hair, which was grown out and curled, and in a fitted suit only her and Marlene Dietrich could pull off, and as poised and confident as her. Gerard, on the other hand, was hunched down, still in his sweater vest, fiddling his thumbs as he spoke in languid whispers. Before they could speak with them, Frank looked up to hear the continuous tapping from upstairs grow closer.

From looking over at Mikey’s horrified reaction alone, Frank had an idea who it was.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Pete cried out, opening the door with Joe and the other two behind him. He took off his hat and bowed down, and Frank looked over at Brendon to see him laughing and waving. “We’ve brought the reason you all work so hard for this: your payment. Patrick?”

The shorter one in the glasses scurried up to Pete, lifting up a briefcase to reveal stacks of fat manila envelopes, with cursive names neatly written on the front.

“I’ll be bringing this around to everyone,” Pete said, with a sly smirk on his lips. “One at a time.”

Those four words nearly proved to be Frank’s downfall. As much as he grew fond of his coworkers (and the fact that he had a job at all) was amazing, he needed an end goal. Despite the fun he was having right now, he knew he couldn’t play the piano in a rowdy underground bar in his seventies.

His eyes strained as they followed the suitcase, passed around from worker to worker. Frank could feel himself nearly shriek in excitement when the suitcase finally came to Brendon, as he collected his envelope. With fidgeting fingers, Frank plucked out the envelope with his name on his, seeing double vision in his sleep-deprived state.

He ignored the glances other gave him as he made a jerky rip across the envelope, his eyes bugging at the hint of green inside. Biting his lip, Frank looked up at Brendon, and Brendon nodded, trying not to laugh at Frank’s expression. Frank pulled out the money slowly, having to blink just to make sure he was seeing the amount correctly.

Thirty dollars. _In cash_.

To say Frank was about to faint was an understatement. 

“Holy fucking shit,” Frank hissed to Brendon, as he fingered through the dollars. God, he hadn’t felt that in ages. “Are for playing the piano?”

Brendon laughed as Frank tried not to hyperventilate. He looked up at Gerard, who was tucking in his envelope in his sweater vest. For a moment, Frank saw a flash of Miss Gee: from her curved shape in a dress, to a mole dotted on her neck in kohl. It was that same Miss Gee that toiled with him each night, amongst rowdy patrons and spilled booze and cramped joints. 

“Hey, Gerard?” Frank whispered, amid the sudden chatter in the room. Gerard turned his head to Frank, and Frank found himself unable to stop smiling. “I’m so happy I did this with you.”

Gerard didn’t have a response. All he could do was blink incredulously, and let himself settle into a smile.

“I know,” Gerard grinned, and in that moment, Frank saw the flash of a signature Miss Gee wink, snatched from the audience and saved just for him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHEW okay it's like three in the morning in iceland but i still know the chapter's late ahhhhhh
> 
> also thirty dollars in the 20s is like 350 dollars present-day??? so ye he aint just getting paid modern day thirty dollars haha
> 
> anyway thank you to everyone who's still reading!!! i love you all!!!


	8. The Breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang goes out to breakfast, but Frank gets more than donuts in the morning.

Frank had stayed at the bar a bit longer than planned, as he usually left soon in order to go home before people lumbered out of their homes to witness him. He rested his head on the suspiciously sticky table’s surface, as Brendon spoke with Laura and Gerard in the background, their voices echoing against his ears. Frank could feel the envelope, thick with booze-scented cash dipped in decadence, press on his chest under his shirt, where he hid the money. His suspender held it in place.

“We’re preparing shop soon, so you guys gotta scram,” Ray said, and Frank turned his head to glance up at him. Despite his language, Ray was smiling. Frank lifted his head to see that everyone except him, Laura, Gerard, Brendon, and Ray had left. He found himself getting out his seat along with the rest at the table.

“And here I wanted to get a haircut,” Brendon pouted, and Ray rolled his eyes as he reached over to ruffle Brendon’s hair, undoing the carefully gelled curls. Brendon let out a gasp, bringing his hands to his hair. 

“Heathen,” Brendon hissed with a grin, flipping off Ray. Ray dismissed them snort, turning around to leave the rest of them be. Brendon flashed Frank a smile, before turning to Laura Jane and Gerard.

“The night’s still young, ladies!” he said, slowly pulling his envelope out of his suit pocket. “What do you say we all hit the town for a well-deserved breakfast?”

“Hell _yes_ ,” Laura smile. “Plus, I wanna get to know the new guy.”

“Frank’s already been here a week, Laura,” Gerard chided softly, looking up at Frank with an apologetic shake of the head. “I’ve gotten to know him plenty.”

“Oh, we bet you have,” Brendon snorted, sharing a knowing glance. Gerard reached over to his left to jab Brendon’s side, and Frank sighed. It’d be a bitch trying to get home to Jamia after breakfast, but he could easily explain that away. As a supposed security guard, the CEO of the company that owned the building he guarded invited him out to breakfast, negotiating money or government secrets, or something like that. Then again, Frank knew he needed to save his money, if he ever wanted a place of his own, and to stop lying to Jamia every time they spoke at this point. 

“I can go,” Frank offered. “I’m not going to be eating, though.”

With that, the group left through the ceiling (Frank ignoring how exiting a secret bar through the ceiling/floor of a barbershop was now as plausible as him finding other friends), following Brendon to a small deli he was raving about on St. Mark’s. 

 

\---

 

The group approached the diner the only other people awake being overworked businessmen power-walking to work, and little old Italian women getting a head-start on their laundry. Frank glanced up to see rows of clotheslines from one apartment to the other side, beige bedsheets and floral sundresses fluttering in the wind. They appeared so high up, Frank wondered if the angels could touch them.

As for the diner itself, it was a charming little joint squashed between a cigar shop and a shop with a sign offering psychic readings for ninety-nine cents in the window. Brendon opened the door to let the others in, and Frank looked around to find a young man behind the counter, a menu behind him on the wall. The sizzling of bacon echoed off the mustard-painted walls, and Brendon approached the counter with a grin.

“Awsten!” Brendon bellowed, and he leaned against the counter. The young man smoothed out his apron, and sighed.

“Early again, I see,” he said, glancing over with another heavy sigh. “Lucky me.”

“Don’t act like you’re not happy to see me,” Brendon grinned. “I’m taking a basket of donuts for me and the gang.”

Austin nodded his head to one of the booths in the corner of the diner, and everyone went to sit there. Laura and Gerard squeezed into one side, and Brendon pushed Frank into the other as they sat on the other.

“How the hell are they open this early?” Frank grumbled, tapping his fingernails on the smooth table, glancing down to see a distorted reflection of himself looking back. Even in the blurry image, Frank could still see the nerves in his face. Jamia was still sleeping, but he’d need to get some food before going to sleep back on her couch. 

Brendon shrugged. “Lots of diners are. I just like the pastries here, and I need to get my energy up if I want to function at the tailorshop today.”

Frank blinked in surprise, before remembering the suit he was wearing. Since Frank mostly saw Brendon in dresses, makeup, wigs, and even the occasional corset, it was strange to imagine a slightly normal day job for him, even though he did see Brendon there earlier. Upon further thought, Frank realized he applied this mindsets to all of his coworkers. It was as though the musicians and the queens and the mob all came alive in the night, and fell asleep in the basement until the moonlight awoke them again. The last time Frank thought like this, it was when he was a child, and assumed all of his schoolteachers lived in the school itself: like normality was stripped away from them, Frank unable to imagine them as humans like himself out in the open. 

“Frank?” Laura said, intercepting his thoughts. Frank glanced up, blinking twice to focus in on Laura. She was in a white button-up and slacks, her hair still long and unruly even without a wig.

“Right, I-“ Frank started, before pursing his lips, wondering how to address her. Though she worked as a drag queen, she hadn’t revealed her civilian name, so Frank tended to call her Laura even out of drag. However, in the outside world, he wondered if that would out her. He forced out a laugh, and leaned in to whisper. “I’m sorry, I just don’t know your name.”

“Most people call me Laura, but my parents call me a disappointment,” she said, with a wry smile. Frank snorted: even out of the club, she still used the wit she was known for onstage. 

“Right, but I meant like,” Frank started, pausing as he wondered how to continue. “Should I be talking about this?”

“Don’t worry, hon,” Brendon said. “Awsten keeps to himself. Just keep it down.”

Nodding, Frank continued. “If Laura’s your drag name, do you have one we could call you in public?”

Laura glanced down at the table, pressing her lips together, and Frank wondered if he said something wrong. “Guess I gotta explain this to the new kid.”

Looking up, she rolled her eyes: she wasn’t upset like Frank thought, but more bemused then anything else. “I’m all woman. Not much in body, but definitely in soul.”

“So, you’re a transvestite?” Frank asked, lowering his voice. He had heard of people like that before: men who became women and women who became men. He just never thought he’d meet someone like that, but then again, he never thought he’d be working in an illegal bar as a pianist, either. “Why’re you a queen, then? Since you’re an actual woman.”

“I started working at the club before I discovered who I was. It was drag that helped me discover who I was, I guess: I never had the opportunity to explore gender and sexuality as a kid. Doing so as an adult,” Laura continued, her lips smoothing out into a wistful smile. “I don’t know. I tried to repress it at first. Then I thought, ‘Hell, most people already think I’m a freak. Hiding it… It’s only gonna hurt me’.”

Brendon grinned at Laura, taking her hand and holding it high above the table. “And the beautiful Laura Jane Grace was born!”

As they both laughed, Frank looked over at Gerard, who was quiet throughout this discussion. His eyes were trained down to his lap, only coughing once and shrinking into himself when Laura and Brendon turned to him.

“I’m going out for a smoke,” Gerard mumbled, as he shuffled out of his seat. “I’ll be back.”

That last part was barely heard as he left the booth, going outside. The bell on the door chimed as he opened it, his absence only acknowledged with a shrug from Laura and Brendon. Frank glanced out the glass storefront, and Frank nudged Brendon’s shoulder.

“I need a smoke, too,” Frank lied. Brendon and Laura went back to their conversation as Frank slipped out of the booth, going outside with the smell of cinnamon and bacon from the diner following the outside. Gerard held a handmade cigarette between his teeth, hunched down as he struggled with the lighter.

“Need a hand?” Frank asked, and Gerard nearly yelped, his cigarette close to falling out of his mouth. He nodded hesitantly, offering the lighter to Frank. Frank lit it, the silver varnish wearing off as he rubbed it to reveal rust. Gerard leaned his head to the lighter, and Frank watched as the paper caught the little flame. Frank relished in the secondhand smoke as Gerard took out the cigarette, breathing out a cloud of smoke like an overworked dragon.

“Thanks,” Gerard said, a sheepish smile playing on his lips. “I’m trying to cut back, ‘cause it fucks up my singing voice, but, you know.”

Frank nodded. He nicked a few of Jamia’s cigarettes in the past week, more than usual: stress of the job, probably. Yet, it was only when Laura was discussing her life, not even her job, that made Gerard promptly get up to leave.

“You okay, though?” Frank asked. “Was it something Laura said?”

Gerard froze in place, and Frank wondered if he fucked up. As Gerard took another drag, he took out the cigarette, the smoke coming out with a sigh. “I don’t know. I’m not uncomfortable with her, per se. It’s just something personal.”

Oh lord. First Pete and Mikey, then Brendon and that mystery man, and now possibly Gerard and Laura: if everyone in that bar had issues with each other, Frank had no clue how it kept operating. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“No, Frank, I just-“ Gerard started, before tapping the ash away from the end of his cigarette in contemplation. “I should talk about it. Even if you can’t keep a secret to save your life.”

“I know, but _hey_!” Frank grinned, causing Gerard’s lips to quirk in a small smile. “If it’s that important to you, then I’ll keep it under wraps. Swear on my mother’s rosary.”

Gerard nodded, his fingers fidgeting as he kept the cigarette still. “I trust you. I think. It’s just difficult to explain. I don’t even think I’ve fully processed it yet.”

Taking in another breath, Gerard handed his cigarette to Frank. “Want a drag?”

With a slow nod, Frank took the cigarette, placing the end of it in his mouth. He took in a drag, his nerves smoothing out like a unopened jar of peanut butter. Gerard coughed to clear his throat, and they leaned against the glass storefront.

“I just feel like _this_ isn’t me,” Gerard said, glancing longingly at the cigarette. Frank took note of this, and handed it back to Gerard. “This hair, these clothes, this body: none of this is supposed to be me. Like God made a mistake in creating me, or something.”

“I like you, though,” Frank said. “You don’t need to change.”

“I’ve felt like this for a long time, Frank,” Gerard said, lowering his voice as he saw a couple cross the street from them. “Ever since I can remember, there’s just this little voice in this back of my head that says… I don’t know. I’m not a real man, or something.”

“So like Laura?”

“No. That’s the worst part,” Gerard mumbled. “I don’t want to be a woman. I just don’t want to _be_. I can’t describe it as anything else.”

Pursing his lips, Gerard dropped his cigarette to the ground, grinding the remains under his shoe. “The only time I can escape this gnawing discomfort is when I’m Miss Gee.”

“Is that why you perform?” Frank asked. “Because you want to be her?”

“I just feel like a person when I become her,” Gerard shrugged, nudging the ash away from him on the pavement with his foot. “And when the daylight comes, and I take off her garb… I can’t say it’s sad. It’s more isolating than anything else.”

With that, Gerard pressed his foot on the ashes, and Frank tightened his hands into fists. He wished he could say he understood what Gerard was saying, but all he could do was rub Gerard’s shoulder, and figure out what to say when Gerard looked up at him.

“I can’t say I get it,” Frank said, his heartbeat quickening with nerves when he saw Gerard force a rueful smile. “But I can listen.”

Gerard’s smile relaxed to become genuine. “That’s more than most people have offered me.”

“What can I say? I offer the bare minimum in anything I do,” Frank said, causing Gerard to snort. “I’m just glad someone thinks that’s enough.”

“Mikey always did say I had low standards,” Gerard grinned. Frank let out a fake gasp, grabbing his necktie as though he were clutching his pearls. “Especially for those who do a particularly astounding Brendon Urie impression.”

Frank struggled to contain a laugh, but he let it out, aware of its high pitch, but continuing to make Gerard smile. 

“You think we could continue this chat?” Gerard asked. “I’d love to continue talking.”

Nodding, Frank turned to go back inside. He stopped when he felt Gerard grab at his sleeve. Frank turned to see Gerard looking down to stare at him, nervously chewing at his bottom lip.

“I meant elsewhere,” Gerard whispered, forcing a smile to calm his nerves. “Don’t get me wrong, I love Brendon and Laura, but I don’t think this is the case for a group situation.”

Freezing in place, Frank ran the possibility of this being a date through his head. If so, he knew he was screwed: he hadn’t dated since before he got fired, and he knew he lost whatever meager skills he once had when it came to romance. If not, then Frank knew he’d ruin whatever friendship he managed to build with Gerard by overthinking his actions like he usually did on dates, instead of acting naturally.

“Definitely,” Frank said before thinking. He didn’t even take Jamia into account, and how she’d react to him coming home late. “Where should we go?”

“Wherever our hearts take us,” Gerard said with a grin, and Frank felt his hands shaking. He clasped them together so Gerard wouldn’t notice, but he couldn’t stop himself from smiling. At that moment, he didn’t care if his suit smelled like sweat and booze, or if his hair shone with grease, or even that his eyes were now lined with purple half-moons. Both men were fatigued, starving, and unclean, but they wore the dirt and cigarette ash on their sleeves, unashamed yet anxious.

“But of course,” Frank managed to say, grateful that made Gerard smile. “Should we tell them that we’re going?”

“Right,” Gerard nodded. “Don’t tell them where we could go, though: I can imagine them following us with binoculars and notepads.”

Frank let out a laugh. “I don’t even want to know how you know that.”

“My fault for befriending some sneaky motherfuckers.”

Grabbing his hand, Gerard whisked Frank back into the diner. His foot kicked up the ash from the pavement, and he watched as the ashes fluttered in the wind, catching to his pant leg. Frank didn’t notice that, nor the bell ringing on the door as they entered, or even Brendon and Laura’s calling them back to the table: all Frank could hear were the clicks of Gerard’s shoes of the tiles, and see the smile forming on the corner of his mouth. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im back bitch
> 
> bet you thought you'd seen the last of me
> 
> seriously tho, hey!!! i came back from sweden the friday before, so i was way too exhausted to upload. nevertheless, i'm gonna keep updating, but expect some infrequencies bc i also gotta study for the act :(((
> 
> also, in case you guys are worried about the language used in this chapter (such as transvestite), im just trying to use the language accurate to that time period, even if it's outdated now
> 
> anyway, please enjoy this chapter!!! thanks again for Keeping Up With the Krap (tm)!!!


	9. The Fondness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank and Gerard go out. The rest is up to the reader.

Explaining the situation to Brendon and Laura didn’t include the melodrama Frank had expected. When they approached the table, they were already eating the donuts from the basket, so they didn’t interrupt Gerard explaining they had to go. Laura just laughed and nodded in response. It was only when Brendon noticed Frank’s frequent glancing up at Gerard did his eyebrows furrow, face darkening.

“Have fun,” was all Brendon said, and Frank looked over at Gerard to see him wince. Tugging at his sweater vest’s collar, Frank nodded his head over to the door, not knowing what to do in this situation. Sighing, Gerard turned around to the door, and they began to walk away. All Frank could do was to turn around, and see Brendon with his face in his hands as Laura rubbed his shoulder.

“What’s wrong with Brendon?” Frank whispered to Gerard. Gerard’s shoulders stiffened.

“He’s been through a lot,” Gerard said. “I think this just reminds him of something.”

Frank didn’t ask what this meant, not wanting to further dampen the mood. They were both silent as they left the diner, until Gerard leaned his head forward down the street.

“Wanna walk?” Gerard asked, his eyes wide as he looked back at Gerard. Frank never nodded his head faster.

 

\---

 

They went down the street, the only other people still out in the open being young women and men, dressed in cheaply made suits and dresses, stumbling and hungover from the night before, and disapproving grandmothers looking out of their windows to unclip their clothes from the clotheslines. Frank couldn’t help but grimace when a particularly sour-faced old woman glared at him. Gerard lookedat him, starting to smile.

“You get used to it,” Gerard said. “You’ll become the ire of every elder this side of America.”

“And I wasn’t already?” Frank replied, starting to laugh. “Even when I was a boy, I was the bane of my teachers’ existences. Not much help that they were also nuns.”

“Catholic school?” Gerard asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“I know. Proud alumni of Immaculate Mary Academy,” Frank deadpanned, causing Gerard to laugh. “If you look at me now… Guess they didn’t do much of anything to save my soul.”

“Who says this isn’t Heaven, though?” Gerard smiled, and Frank tried not to stammer his words, ending up not saying much of anything as Gerard laughed again. He was stopped when a high-pitched squeal pierced Frank’s ears, as he nearly doubled down when he heard the dreaded, “Extra, extra!” on the corner of the street they almost passed. He turned around to see a pint-sized kid, dressed in rags and a newsboy cap covering his face. Frank tended to pass these kids back when he was a journalist: he already knew the news, so he never needed to buy something from them. However, Gerard stopped in his tracks, fishing something from the pocket of his pants. Handing a rusty quarter to the kid, he grabbed a newspaper from him, and thanked the kid before he continued to walk.

“What?” Gerard said, when he saw Frank’s incredulous expression. “I like the funnies.”

Frank sputtered out laughter, despite Gerard’s glaring at him. “I did, too: when I was a child and sick and had nothing else to look at in my room.”

“You just don’t appreciate art,” Gerard said, rolling his eyes. “You’re lucky I've committed to this outing, otherwise I would’ve kicked you to the curb.”

“I’m just saying,” Frank said, trying not to smirk but knowing he was failing, “You could’ve gotten the funnies on their own, unless you read the news itself.”

“God no,” Gerard shuddered. “The world’s sad enough as it is without the articles confirming that. I use it for other purposes.”

“Suspicious,” Frank mumbled, and Gerard laughed. “How utterly nefarious you sound.”

“Don’t act like you don’t love it,” Gerard snorted, and Frank realized he couldn’t.

 

\---

 

They had walked to the park, their route growing slower as the streets finally filled with businessmen, store owners, and others going about their day. Frank welcomed the familiar scent of smog as cars scoured the streets. Brick buildings hunched over the crowds, as wind picked up leaves and let them travel through the crowds. Frank and Gerard continued talking, hushing voices flying off the fresh ink on the funnies Gerard poured over, and Frank had no choice but to look over at them as well. He smiled, remembering how they made him laugh when he was sick as a child, locked in his room with bouts of whatever sickness took ahold of him next.

Eventually, they reached a half-developed land, with trees providing shade over a paved pathway built in to simulate one of the fancier parks up in Manhattan, but those who couldn’t pay a fee couldn’t go into. It was more of a half-finished project than an actual park, but the people of St. Marks took what they could get: elderly women strolled with bags of bread crumbs for the occasional bird that was unfortunate enough to stop by, ignoring the half-dug holes for wiring to be put in that would never be finished.

Gerard nudged at Frank’s side. “Can we take a moment to sit? I’d rather not have half the crowd hear what we’re talking about.”

Nodding, they both entered the park, the bench creaking as they sat down. Frank kicked a few leaves from by his feet to the pavement, glancing over at Gerard. He was bent over his newspaper, on the backside where the last page was blank, but he seemed to be scribbling something that Frank couldn’t see. His hair obscured his face, so Frank tapped Gerard’s shoulder. 

“Sorry, I’m just a bit focused,” he said, with an apologetic smile. He held up his hand, where he held a stubby pencil. “I always keep this on me, just in case I come across any paper.”

“Damn,” Frank whistled. “Can I see?”

For a moment, Gerard pressed his lips together, and Frank wondered if he fucked up. He nearly sighed in relief when Gerard hesitantly pushed the paper over to Frank, who glanced over to see what was on there. 

“Damn,” Frank repeated, his eyes widening as he hunched over the paper. It was cartoons, yes, but there was something different about them, something that distinguished them from the soulless funnies that were pumped out for a profit back at Frank’s old job: it was a humanoid-looking cat, with simply drawn features, but drawn with multiple expressions and poses. Each stroke of the pencil was sparked with life, as Frank could imagine this cat creature run or ride a bike or hug someone, each smile and wink it made appearing as though it were made for Frank. He looked up at Gerard, a grin slowly growing on his face. “This is kind of amazing.”

“Oh, God, please stop,” Gerard said, but smiled to show that he didn’t want it to stop. “I’m just warming up.”

“That’s you warming up?” Frank laughed. “Christ, next thing you know, you’ll be working for Walt Disney himself.”

“That’s the dream,” Gerard whispered, continuing when he saw Frank look up in interest. “I don’t know. Children’s movies and books always pulled me away from the life I lived and led, making me feel… I don’t know. Happy. And I don’t feel pure, unadulterated happiness a lot. I just want to give that feeling to everyone - especially people like me - with my art, you know?”

Frank blinked twice, not quite knowing how to respond, because he also had to process how Gerard tucked a few hairs behind his ear, or how he bit his bottom lip slightly during pauses. So he forced himself to stammer out an answer before fully comprehending what was coming out of his mouth.

“That made me happy,” Frank said, watching as something lit up in Gerard’s eyes. “Your cat. You put a lot of yourself into it, I think-“

“Her,” Gerard interrupted. “Her name is Lola.”

“Well, excuse me,” Frank laughed, causing Gerard to look down at his drawings, smiling. “Yeah. I don’t know. There’s just something so pure and lovely about your art. I want to see it all, you know?”

They both grew silent once Frank caught his tongue, and saw Gerard blink in surprise. His pale face took on a rosy hue, but Frank couldn’t see that as he looked down at the drawings. For what seemed to be the millionth time today, Frank wondered if he fucked up. However, Gerard intercepted Frank’s mental spiral, the scratching of his pencil pausing as he took a minute to touch Frank’s hand.

“Frank?” Gerard whispered, and Frank looked up, feeling as though his heart stiffened with nerves. “Can I draw you?”

Frank’s eyes widened, and Gerard turned his head away, embarrassed. Coughing to alert Gerard, he watched as Gerard turned his head, which was still lowered.

“Sure,” Frank managed to say. Almost immediately, Gerard turned his head up, eyes focused in on Frank’s features. Instinctively, Frank held still, only glancing down when Gerard started to draw, his pencil motions limited because he had to squeeze in the portrait between two Lolas. Occasionally, Gerard would look up to use Frank as reference, briefly biting his bottom lip and letting it go. Something stirred in Frank’s stomach when that happened, but he chose to ignore it. Instead, he watched Gerard tucking his hair behind his ear, eyes narrowing on the drawing. Even though it only took a few minutes for Gerard to stop drawing, Frank could have held still just to watch him draw for the rest of the day.

“It’s just a rough draft,” Gerard explained, as he slowly passed the paper back to Frank. “I can work on it later, if you want.”

Frank wasn’t able to respond, as he scanned over the little bust drawn of himself. It certainly wasn’t realistic: from the jellybean-shaped mouth to the pointed half-triangle of a nose, Frank expected something as cartoonish as what was shown. Yet, despite the simplification, Gerard used the details of Frank to exaggerate and play with. His hair resembled John Gilbert’s, which was what Frank was going for with his hairstyle. Small stars were drawn as pupils, and his mouth was wide in a candy-shaped grin. The piece was undoubtedly Frank, but elements of Gerard’s energy pulsed through the paper.

“This is,” Frank started, trying to gather his words, “Simply… Wonderful.”

If Frank was being honest, he said that more out of a desire to see the smile slowly appear on Gerard’s face than anything else. “Do you think I can keep it?” 

“You don’t want any correction or something done in pen?” Gerard asked. Frank shook his head, fingernails pressing into the paper to create half-moons in the art. With that, Gerard started to laugh, his laughter intercepted with snorts that caught the glares of the elderly women strolling in the park. Frank would’ve glared back at them, but he was too busy staring at the portrait, to Gerard, and back.

“I’m sorry for laughing, I just find it charming,” Gerard grinned, attempting to calm himself from laughter. “Would you like more pictures?”

“Oh, fuck yes,” Frank said, the attention of the elderly women now on him. With that, he leaned over the paper, watching Gerard’s fingers curl around the pencil, graphite scratching into the newspaper. A string of hair fell over Gerard’s face, and before he could push it back, Frank instinctively tucked it behind Gerard’s ear. Gerard looked up at him, his cheeks tinted with rose.

“Thank you,” he whispered, and Frank didn’t know how to respond. All he could do was watch Gerard draw, eyes always drawing back to the leftover clear nail varnish twinkling on Gerard’s nails.

 

\---

 

Once the sun peeked through the trees Frank and Gerard were under, Frank knew it was time to go. He nudged Gerard’s side, watching his head jolt up from his cartoon-induced trance. Looking over to Frank, Gerard folded up the newspaper and stuck the pencil in his back pocket.

“It’s getting lighter,” Frank said. “I think I got to go home.”

With his lips pursed tightly, Gerard tucked the folded newspaper under the front of his sweater vest. “Right. Is it safe for me to take you home?”

“Jamia, the one I’m living with, doesn’t know about my job,” Frank said, lowering his voice. “She does know that I have a…. Penchant for the same sex.”

“She knows about _that_?” Gerard whistled, as they both got up from the bench and began walking, rubbing his arms for warmth among the cool breeze of September. “Lucky. Only Mikey knew from the start, only because he told me he was… Inclined towards men as well.”

“ _Mikey_?” Frank said. On one hand, that made sense of why he was working at a pansy bar. On the other, Frank could barely imagine him with anyone in the first place. 

Nodding, Gerard turned the corner, leaving Frank to follow him. When Frank caught up, Gerard leaned in to his ear. “Yes. He doesn’t know about my thing. With gender, I mean.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Frank said. Looking into Gerard’s eyes, all he could see was a boy in front of him, even though he knew that wasn’t totally true. Though he understood what it was like to present as something he knew he wasn’t, he knew it must’ve been different for Gerard. He wished he knew how, if only for Gerard's sake.

“I’ve grown used to it,” Gerard said, forcing a sheepish smile. Frank looked away, his shoulder brushed by throngs of people to pull him out of his daze. He knew Gerard was sad. All he wanted was to rub his shoulder, hug him, anything he could do to make it a little better. The only thing they were able to do was glance at each other knowingly, a look too quick to gather the ire of the crowds surrounding them.

They both walked in silence until they reached Jamia’s neighborhood. The familiar squat buildings hunched over the two of them. Reaching the brick building Jamia lived in, Frank looked up at her window to see if he could see a peek of her, in case she was awake. 

“You seem awfully paranoid about her,” Gerard said, noticing Frank’s worried expression. “I thought you knew about you?”

“She does, she’s just,” Frank said, biting his lip as he wondered how to phrase it. “Protective. She’s been there for me since the beginning: even when we were children, she’d probably take care of me more than my own mother.”

Gerard laughed a little at that, causing Frank to smile. He was glad he didn’t have to go into he details of his childhood sicknesses. They reached the front of the apartment, and stood by the front doorway. Frank hesitated to go inside without a goodbye, but they found themselves both standing in place, silent in their cage of anxiety.

“Thank you,” Frank started, scratching the back of his neck because he had to find at least something to do. “Thank you for taking me out.”

“It’s really my pleasure,” Gerard said, opening his mouth to say more, but quickly closing it when a few people walked past them. Not knowing what else to say, as Gerard’s cheeks lit up scarlet, Frank began to walk into the door, until he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“I wanted to give you something,” Gerard mumbled under his breath, fishing out the newspaper from his sweater vest. Before Frank could take it, Gerard grabbed the pencil from his back pocket, scribbling something in the corner of the back page. Seeing Frank raise an eyebrow, Gerard couldn’t help but smile as he gave the newspaper to him. “Finishing touches.”

Gerard walked away before Frank could thank him, only glancing back with a half-smile. Frank stood outside as he watched Gerard disappeared in the distance, and grinned as he glanced down at the drawings. As he turned the folded newspaper over, Frank’s eyes widened. He looked up at Gerard, who was now a speck in the horizon, then down at the paper, then up, then back down again.

_“Let’s go out again,”_ Frank read in his head, his hands shaking. _“I’ve grown fond of you.”_

Frank’s eyes scanned the paper, from the dip in the Ys’, to the jerky dashes of the apostrophes, biting his lip to stop himself from smiling. Those ten syllables sent electricity up Frank’s arms, before pooling into warmth in his stomach, bubbling into an unprompted laugh from Frank.

He tucked the paper into the inside of his jacket, the newspaper vibrating against the beating of his heart. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHH ANOTHER CHAPTER AND ON THE LAST DAY OF PRIDEEEE
> 
> anyway thank you for everyone reading!!! i love my whole audience, from those who comment and bookmark and the works, to those who just take a glance. also, for those who want more context in this universe (specifically about Brendon), please read "the sun may be a star, but the moon shines brighter". it's on here, and it was the inspiration for this whole universe
> 
> thanks again!


	10. The Shock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Jamia grows more suspicious, Frank's relationship with Gerard escalates until a certain encounter at the speakeasy threatens to change everything. In addition, Brendon's past is opened up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys.
> 
> So, I've been gone for a month. My only excuse is my temporary lost interest in the fic, but I don't want to the person that never concludes this story. I love this AU, the characters, and my readers way too much to just abandon it: I just needed a bit of a break to get the story on track again. 
> 
> Otherwise, I hope there's still people interested enough to comment, bookmark, give kudos, do all that fun stuff! Thank you to everyone who managed to wait it out with me, and I'll be back with an update this week!

As Frank crept towards the apartment door that morning, he pressed his ear against the door, grinning when he didn’t hear Jamia shuffling around he living room. Biting his lip, he slowly opened the door, praying Sweet Pea wouldn’t bark to alert her. Thankfully, as Sweet Pea scurried towards him, her little legs unable to keep with her speed, causing her to slide against the floor, he picked her up and pressed her face into his jacket. Making it to the couch so he wouldn’t smother her, Frank set Sweet Pea down on the floor and kicked off his shoe so she could play with it. She gnawed on it, and as Frank ignored how that was his one good pair of shoes left, he pressed his hand to the paper Gerard gave him. The words etched themselves into his mind, pencil-scratched into the inner linings of his neurons. He smiled, lying back on the couch, mouthing out his new favorite phrase:

_“I’ve grown fond of you.”_

Each syllable in time with each beat of his heart, eventually the words being unable to keep up with the rapid _ba-dum_ as his ribcage grew tired from the heart’s poundings. Frank didn’t care, however: he wondered if this was how boys and girls in high school felt when they found their first partner. He was never able to understand that, as he never felt the way he did about his girlfriends in high school. All he knew was that he would have died on that couch, and been perfectly satisfied.

“Hello, Frankie.”

Suppressing a yelp, Frank jolted from his position on the couch, facing Jamia standing over him. She was dressed for work, and was still in the process of brushing out the curls in her bob. Nothing in her expression intended any distaste toward Frank, and he let out a nervous laugh.

“Good morning, Jamia,” he forced out, as though it were bile. “Have you been awake long?”

“I just finished getting ready,” she replied, narrowing her eyes at him. “I heard you come in.”

“Why didn’t you alert me?” Frank said, and Jamia shrugged, tossing her comb to him. As he caught and clutched it, she leaned against the back of the couch.

“I assumed you were doing something important,” Jamia said. “You’ve been doing quite well lately, aside from the whole night schedule, so I wouldn’t assume you’d harm yourself in any way. Besides, you could’ve been out with your friend.”

“Right. Friend,” Frank said. Definitely not three drag performers, one of whom stole his heart. “Bobby. Love him.”  
“Bobby?” Jamie said, lifting an eyebrow. She tapped her foot, the clicked of her heels sending shockwaves up Frank. “Don’t you mean Bernie?”

Gripping the comb until Frank couldn’t feel the teeth making indents into the pads of his fingertips, he tried to swallow, but his mouth grew dry.

“No. It was Bobby,” Frank finally said. “It was Bobby.”

“You mentioned a Bernie yesterday, though-“

“His name is Bobby,” Frank said. Jamia opened her mouth, then closed it with a sigh.

“I was sure his name was Bernie,” Jamia said, biting her lip. Frank knew she did that to keep her words in so her temper wouldn’t have a chance to rear its ugly head. “I’ve confronted you enough this past month, but this will stick with me.”

Before Frank could say anything, Jamia grabbed her purse from the countertop, waved goodbye to Frank, and left. The creak of the closing door made Frank’s heart still, and he closed his mouth, tracing the outline of the note in his jacket. Frank wondered, just for a moment, if he made Jamia give up. 

 

* * *

 

 

Since Jamia didn’t do anything that night, Frank took it as her unknown approval for him to continue his trysts with Gerard. On second thought, Frank couldn’t call them “trysts”, as they never actually went beyond brief brushes over each other’s hands. This was due to not only Frank living with Jamia, but also because Gerard lived with Mikey down in the Village. Frank didn’t want to imagine Mikey’s reaction if he found them fooling around in his home, or (God forbid) if Frank did anything to break Gerard’s heart. Mikey may have warmed up to Frank (or he was neutral regarding him, Frank still couldn’t tell), but Frank did know Mikey had more people he hated than people he loved. 

Gerard and Frank did grow bolder with their time together, though: they prolonged the mornings by picking through the news to read the comics, charm shop owners into giving them leftovers, and peruse through record stores. Since money was tight on both ends, they never bought each other anything:instead, Frank now had a collection of doodles and poems from Gerard, done in the margins of newspapers, and Frank composed short piano pieces for Gerard, writing them after work and playingthem when the night hours grew light. Even though Frank constantly reminded himself to buy Gerard something (or, better yet, find an apartment so they could have a little bit of privacy) once he had the money, he still sewed in the doodles in the inner linings of his jacket, close to his heart.

Frank wondered if Brendon would kill him for modifying his suit.

In any case, Frank was pulled out of his thoughts by having his hair ruffled by Brendon, who swung his fishnet-covered legs into a stool at the bar, where Frank was sitting at as Mikey leaned against the counter ron the other side. Running a hand through his gelled hair (Brendon was going wig-less tonight), heraised a plucked eyebrow at Frank before turning to Mikey.

“What the hell’s wrong with him?” Brendon said, just loud enough for Mikey to hear. Mikey suppressed a laugh by biting his lip, shaking his head. “Seriously. He looks like he’s been in a coma and just died with a smile on his face.”

“You really don’t know?” Mikey snorted. “Haven’t you seen him and Gerard together?”

“Obviously. We brunch,” Brendon said. Frank look down at Brendon’s hand, who was tapping the countertop with a fake painted fingernail. “But Frank’s been acting like Gerard just proposed to him.”

“Speak of the Devil,” Mikey muttered, and Brendon and Frank turned their heads to see Gerard approach them, hair and makeup not done, but already in his favorite black dress. Gerard told Frank he loved it, as it resembled something someone would wear in a vaudeville show, despite it not being as popular as the other, trendier outfits he wore on stage. Frank, on the other hand, loved the dramatic flair.

“Miss Gee,” Frank grinned, standing up to face Gerard. Even though Gerard’s boots had a small heel, he still shadowed over Frank. “You look like Nora Bayes.”

“That’s the dream,” Gerard said, pulling out Frank’s tie from under his vest to run through it. “I swear to God, though. For some people, if the dress isn’t short enough, the show isn’t worth seeing.”

“Fuck them,” Frank said. “Those tasteless motherfuckers.”

“Fuck _you_ ,” Gerard retorted as he flashed a smile, and Frank felt electricity run up and reside in the divots of his spine. 

“Oh, please do,” Frank whispered, standing on his toes so he was lined up with Gerard’s ear. Gerard pushed Frank down and laughed, then pulled him in for a quick peck on the lips. Frank felt his mouth burn, as though someone stubbed out a cigarette on it, but in the best way possible.

“I’ll remember that,” Gerard said, a playful grin lying idly on his face. Frank ignored the pang in his ribcage when he remembered Jamia say something similar to that, and shook his head to get rid of the thought. Worries regarding Jamia were occurring more frequently, especially with the slip-ups Frank was making in his elaborate story: from forgetting names and addresses to outright telling Jamia she wasn’t allowed near where he worked, he figured it was a matter of time before she found out. Frank could only hope that he could find an apartment by then. However, Frank tried not to let his anxiety show, and waved goodbye to Gerard as he turned away to finish applying his makeup. Frank turned back to Mikey and Brendon, head resting on his hand, sighing with a smile.

“Flirt with Gerard in front of me again, and I’ll be obligated to vomit all over your little display,” Mikey deadpanned. He continued when Frank gave off a nervous laugh. “Also, do anything to hurt him, and I’ll fucking cut you.”

Frank nodded slowly as Mikey started to laugh, so Frank was unsure if that was a joke or not. Turning to Brendon to ask about it, he saw Brendon facing the countertop, fists balled up on his lap.

“It’s nice to see you both so happy,” Brendon said, facing Frank with a quivering smile. “Excuse me, gentlemen.”

Before Frank could ask what was wrong, Brendon got up and headed towards the musicians, and Frank turned back to Mikey, forcing another laugh to ease the tension Brendon left. “Is he okay?”

“You really don’t know?” Mikey said, surprise lacing his voice. Frank shook his head slowly, causing Mikey to lean in to whisper to Frank. “It’s common knowledge around here at this point.”

“I’m sorry, I really don’t understand.”

Taking in a breath, Mikey glanced over Frank’s shoulder at Brendon. “Brendon didn’t start working here alone. He came with a few friends: one’s a musician here, but the other two are gone. I can’t remember the first one’s name, but the other was quite memorable. We all called him Ryan.”

Locking eyes with Frank, Mikey took a step back, voice still hushed. “Brendon and Ryan were… Close, to say the least. Childhood friends, musical partners, lovers, you name it. Eventually, Ryan grew tired of Brendon hogging all the attention, so he left with the other guy to start their own speakeasy. However, they didn’t have the mob’s protection, so I’m sure you can imagine what happened to them.”

Swallowing nothing, Frank felt sweat drip down his neck. “They were caught?”

“Naturally,” Mikey confirmed. “Police raid, I heard, and the next thing you know, they both end up in prison. It was years ago, and Brendon still refuses to bring up Ryan. It’s as though he acquired some form of survivor’s guilt over it. I think you and Gerard just reminded him of happier times.”

Frank’s eyes widened, and guilt pooled in his something. He never meant to hurt Brendon, but he knew no one could do anything to fix the situation. Frank looked up when Mikey called his name.

“It’s not your fault,” Mikey assured him. “Don’t feel guilty over your happiness. That’s what the world wants when it comes to our relationships: don’t give them what they want.”

Before Frank could respond, Mikey’s eyes darkened. “Besides, if Brendon knew how Ryan got discovered, he wouldn’t feel any guilt. He’d just want the world to burn.”

Frank contemplated asking what Mikey meant by that, but he bit his tongue to keep from commenting. Looking back at Brendon, who was now bursting out in laughter as he spoke with Spencer and Dallon by the stage, Frank wondered what could trigger this rage. 

 

* * *

 

 

Aside from the revelation followed by a cryptic statement (which, if Frank was being honest, he should be used to by now), the night was going normally. He played the piano, attempted to suppress his laughter during Brendon’s burlesque routine: normal occurrences at this point in the job. His eyes were wide, only blinking once every few minutes out of necessity, brain wired with each key the piano made. Frank could imagine phantom strings controlling his fingers, as though the whole night was just an out-of-body experience. For a moment, Frank was tempted to hit a wrong note, just to remind himself that he was real, or even wail out something so he wasn’t going invisible. He liked to focus on the background noises from the patrons: from quick snorts of cocaine by the bar counter (which Mikey pretended to be ignorant about), to the sloshes of champagne getting spilt over to clothes, to the peals of laughter when someone said something that wasn't even that amusing, Frank wondered when he could be in that crowd. He wondered if Gerard would even like this sort of scene: he obviously tolerated it, due to working here, but Frank appreciated the quiet moments of the morning when they could catch the sun rising, letting orange hues of the sky spark flecks of gold in the irises of Gerard’s eyes.

Speaking of Gerard, Frank braced himself for his performance. Each click of Gerard’s heels echoed in time with Frank’s heartbeat, and the room went silent as Frank began to play _Dinah._ He trusted himself to know the song enough to sneak a peek at Gerard’s performance, and Frank bit his lip to keep a straight face. Like Brendon, Gerard wasn’t wearing a wig tonight, but his hair was long enough to put in a low bun, stray pieces curled idly in front of his front. His head was shadowed by a black, wide-brimmed hat, which Gerard took off and tossed to a breathless audience. The only speck of color on him was a a deep purple lipstick. The contrast between the stark white of his skin and the harsh darker shades of his clothes, hair and makeup reminded Frank of one of those actresses in a silent films. However, the real show started once Gerard began to sing. 

The slow notes aligned with the buildup in the song, as Gerard approached the microphone and gazed out at the audience. Frank watched as Gerard turned his head to survey the view, the low hum of the section swelling within Gerard’s voice. Those who weren’t listening were taking back drink after drink, talking, but they could barely be heard under the sheer power of his belt. Remembering his conversations on gender with Gerard, Frank wondered if Gerard felt as powerful as Frank saw him in this form: like it was the way he was meant to be born.

Taking note of that last thought to ask Gerard later, Frank kept playing. The lull in the song allowed Frank to look up from the piano, watching as Gerard turned his head towards Frank. His plum-colored lips spread in a wide grin, as he took out the hair tie holding up the bun and shaking out his hair, causing Frank to whistle in appreciation. Pushing his hair back with one hand, Gerard gave a quick wave to Frank with the other. Frank looked up to wave back briefly before going back to the piano, now focused on finishing the song. 

As he finished playing the bridge, it was time for the chorus again. This time, Frank pounded on the keys to rival Gerard’s voice, never drowning him out, always on the same sound waves. As the song came to a climax with the last key, Gerard held out the note, Frank’s finger pressing down on the key in time with him. When they finally finished the song, the audience applauded. Frank couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pride as laughter bubbled up in Gerard’s stomach, coming out as shy giggles as he curtsied. Gerard then gestured to Frank and the rest of the musicians, and Frank gave a sheepish wave to the audience, finally taking the time to observe his surroundings.

It was a standard crowd, for the end of the night. From young people staying out a bit too late, mellowed out by the booze but hopped up on Benzedrine, too sleazy guys in cheap suits whistling, and everyone else hoping to get a glimpse of Miss Gee, it was the usual fare. Frank strained his neck to see Mikey applauding as well, smiling with pride for his brother. However, it was the person sitting at the bar that made Frank freeze in his seat.

Like most of the women that came by, she was young and beautiful. Her hair was brushed back in a neat black bob, curled around her ears to show off her fake pearl earrings. A string of fake pearls wrapped around her neck to match, which Frank knew she liked to save for these nights out. The silver in her dress shone in the dingy lights of the basement, simultaneously dull and bright at the same time. Her glass of champagne was marked with red lipstick prints on the rim, but most of it still stayed on her lips in a tight line. Her eyes were narrowed in on Frank, lined with kohl and surprise, as she passed the glass back to Mikey. A mixture of fear, shock, and possibly bile spun in Frank’s stomach, and he kept his jaw up so he wouldn’t vomit all over the piano.

To the patrons and other employees, she was just another customer. However, to Frank, she was more: from a best friend and partner-in-crime to the woman he had to tip-toe around.

_“Ladies and gentlemen,”_ Frank thought as him and the woman locked eyes. _“Here’s Jamia.”_


	11. The Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamia and Frank have their long-needed conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello beautiful people!!! i almost didn't post this in time (well i didn't but it's thirty mins after my deadline) but otherwise life is good! i wanna thank everyone who's still reading, i fucking love you guys like yall are my primary motivation
> 
> also happy bday to my boi ros!!! i wanted to upload on wednesday rather than tuesday bc it's her birthday and she's been following this fic since almost the beginning. we stan a legend <33333

At that moment, Frank had expected Jamia to walk up from her seat, go up on stage, and murder Frank with her steely gaze alone. However, she just remained by the bar, sitting and glaring at Frank even as the last of the patrons left the bar. The musicians had already stopped playing, and the performers went backstage to take off their clothes and makeup, leaving Frank frozen in the piano bench. It was only when Ray walked towards Frank, leaning against the piano and lowering his voice to a whisper.

“Hey, Frank,” he said. “You okay? You usually go by the bar at this time-“  
Grabbing Ray by the collar and pulling him down to meet his eyes, Frank hissed in his ear, “Is the woman by the bar still there?”

Ray, surprised, looked up nonetheless when Frank was terrified to. He whispered back, “Yeah. Should we take her out?”

“No,” Frank sighed. “She didn’t do anything. She’s just-“

“She’s just what, Frank?”

Frank nearly shot out of his seat, but instead slowly lifted his head to see that Jamia had left the bar, and was now by the stage. She lifted herself up to the elevated area of the stage to get on Frank and Ray’s levels, flashing a smile at Ray before turning back to Frank. The three were silent, with Frank avoiding Jamia’s gaze, leaving Ray to catch her glaring. Coughing to ease the tension, Ray’s eyes darted around the room before landing on Mikey.

“Mikey!” Ray called out, and Mikey looked up from where he was by the bar. “We need to talk.” 

“About what?” Mikey asked. Sucking in a breath, Ray shrugged, exasperated.

“Stuff,” Ray said. “And things.”

Ray glanced back at Frank, leaning down to whisper. “Whatever issues you have, resolve it upstairs. Preferably in the bathroom so no one sees you two.”

Before Frank could respond, Ray left the stage and made his way to Mikey, leaving Frank with Jamia. Forcing himself to look up at her, Frank got up from his seat, legs shaking. Jamia nodded her head towards the back of the room, where the entrance was.

“Your friend is right,” Jamia finally said. “We need to talk.”

 

* * *

 

 

After Jamia and Frank discreetly made their way to the entrance to the bar, they went up the ladder to find themselves in the barbershop. Frank led them to the back of the room, where he spotted a the bathroom, and remembered Ray’s instructions in order not to be seen through the windows. They went inside the bathroom in the back, where Frank faced Jamia. He observed her for any signs of anger, but could only find shock in her eyes. Somehow, that seemed worse.

“I don’t know what to say. I’m just-” Jamia finally said, her fingers brushing through her hair. “Really, Frank? A _speakeasy_? You got a job at a _speakeasy_?”

Frank could only nod, causing Jamia to sigh. She looked up, her lips pursed, before glaring at Frank again. “How? How the fuck did this happen?”

Recounting the events that seemed so recent, Frank’s voice unwillingly lowered to a whisper. “This man heard I was a homosexual,” Frank forced out, hands growing clammy. “He said he knew wherepeople like me could get a job, and, well…”

Before Jamia could take the opportunity to speak after Frank trailed off, Frank put more volume into his voice, balling his hands into fists. “What made you come here, anyway?”

“Well,” Jamia started, giving a glare to Frank that made him lose what little bravado he had possessed. “You kept coming home later and later. Your sleep schedule grew erratic. You gave only the vaguest of details about your security job, and messed up even those details. Above all, however, you are a terrible liar.”

Frank couldn’t help but chuckle at that last part, causing Jamia’s lips to quiver into a smile, despite her suppression of it. 

“I don’t know how to go about my explanation without sounding like a stalker, Frankie,” Jamia continued, her voice growing softer. “You’ve just been acting so different lately: I never saw you anymore, and you were either snappy or sleeping when you were around. I knew that damn job had something to do with it, and-“

Jamia forced a smile, gazing up at the tiled ceiling. Her voice cracked. Frank knew that, despite the way she acted, it was the only way she knew how, after sticking by Frank since childhood. “I know you weren’t telling me the truth for a reason. I thought you got yourself into something dangerous, like whoring yourself out or something-“

“This _is_ dangerous!” Frank said, on the verge of yelling. “It’s a goddamn speakeasy.”

“We used to go to clubs _all the time_ , though,” Jamia protested, crossing her arms. Frank rolled his eyes, thankful it was dark enough so that Jamia didn’t see.

“It’s not the same as actually working for these clubs, seeing the guys in charge,” Frank said. “I’m literally working for the mob here. You could get hurt if you knew about this.”

Jamia’s eyes widened before sighing, pinching her temple. “You’re the fucking piano player. That’s not exactly smuggling or murdering or whatever the hell else the guys running this joint do in the daylight.”

With another exasperated sigh, Jamia leaned against the sink’s counter, and they let the silence marinate in the humidity of the bathroom. Frank lifted up his collar to let some air in, and could feel the tension slip into his shirt. Jamia took an step forward, glancing away. 

“I would’ve been fine with your new job, you know,” Jamia said, biting her lower lip until the lipstick wore away. “And I know why you lied. It still hurts, though.”

“I know,” Frank admitted, walking towards Jamia to lean beside her, as though they were kids again. “And I know why you followed me, but that was fucking insane.”

“So we both fucked up here, I suppose.”

“Don’t we always?” Frank smiled, causing Jamia to bark out in a laugh before growing silent again. Frank glanced up at her, but her features were stony. “Jamia?”

“Since I wasn’t supposed to know about this,” Jamia said, her voice so low Frank almost didn’t catch it. “Are you going to get into trouble because of me?”

Fuck. Frank didn’t think of that. His heart began to thump, growing louder until it became hushed in his ribcage. Not wanting to worry Jamia, Frank shook his head, scouring his head for any reassurances, both for him and her at this point.

“I never told anyone here you weren’t aware of this,” Frank finally said, muscles loosing tension once Jamia let out a sigh. “Even if I did get in trouble, I’d make sure to leave you out of it.”

“You don’t need to protect me-“

“Jamia,” Frank interrupted, “This is my world now.”

Jamia looked down at Frank, and Frank glanced up to see pride and shock flash through her eyes, before they softened as she gave a rueful smile. Frank’s heartbeat quickened once again until it grew faint, sounding to him as though the ghosts of the shop stepped in to listen to the conversation, before leaving discreetly through the winds. 

“I’ll try to stay out of it, then,” Jamia said softly. “I’m sorry for not trusting you.”

“I’m sorry for not saying anything,” Frank mumbled, playing with his sleeves, damp with sweat. “Just don’t follow me next time. I wish I knew how you able to do it, though.”

“The power of friendship,” Jamia smirked, and Frank chuckled. “I won’t follow you anymore, though. Just make sure to let me know of any big changes.”

Frank’s eyes widened as he remembered Gerard. However, as he wanted to be on better terms with Jamia, Especially since he still didn’t have a home at this point in time.

“Well,” Frank whispered, “There’s a man in my life.”

Silence struck the bathroom. After a minute, Frank looked up to see Jamia grinning, biting her lower lip to contain what Frank imagined to be squeals. Sighing, Frank glanced at the floor, where he imagined Gerard to still be in the club.

“Do you want to meet him?”

“Is that even a question?” Jamia said, grabbing Frank’s hand as she led them out of the bathroom door. Frank squinted at the sunlight pouring in from the windows of the barbershop, but Jamia barely noticed in her excitement. “I need to see if he’s worthy of you.”

“He makes me happy,” Frank said, the words coming out before his brain could process them. However, as Jamia’s grin grew, Frank’s eyes became wider as Jamia approached the unrolled carpet with the trap door, leaning down as she opened it to find the ladder. “Whoever this gentleman is, I’m telling him you said that!”

As Frank protested while Jamia climbed down the ladder, Frank sighed, beginning to climb down himself before closing the trapdoor. With each quick step of the ladder, Frank’s mind flashed back to hushed voices in the tree in Jamia’s backyard. Whispered secrets of forbidden crushes and reluctant aspirations had encircled around its branches, just as temporary promises and something rekindling wrapped itself around each bar of the ladder. These words, past and present, began binding Frank’s limbsto the ladder until he found himself at the bottom of the ladder with Jamia, finally ready to meld his two worlds.

 

* * *

 

When Jamia opened the door again, Frank grew shocked to see the majority of the workers gone, with only Lindsay, Ray, and Gerard by the bar with Mikey. They all looked up to see Jamia and Frank by the door, but Frank was too nervous to meet their gaze. He felt like a child again, being confronted by his mother for picking flowers out of the garden despite his allergies. 

“Who the hell are you?” Mikey deadpanned, continuing to clean the glasses with a dishrag, looking back down. Jamia flashed a winning smile as he walked forward, Frank following behind. She took a seat at the bar, Frank looking up to see Gerard raise a bemused eyebrow. 

“Jamia Nestor, Frank’s friend-“

“As well as professional over-reactor,’ Frank interrupted, causing Jamia to roll her eyes. Despite this, Frank still saw her smiling. “Otherwise, she’s tolerable.”

“I’m a goddamn delight and you know it,” Jamia shot back, and Frank snorted. Ray got up from his seat and went towards Frank, as Jamia started talking to the others.

“You resolved whatever squabbles you two had, right?” Ray said quietly, and Frank nodded. Their backs were turned from the rest. “Excellent. Anyway, since I didn’t want to say anything to the rest, I had them all dismissed. So, don’t worry if you heard any footsteps.”

Frank’s heart froze. His mind went back to the memory of his heartbeat. However, it wasnow supplemented by creaks in the floor, the bells once muffled in his mind now jangling. Only Frank could manage to fix one problem, in the midst of creating another one. He held back and shallow breathing, and instead pinched his temple. Ray noticed this and held Frank’s shoulder until Frank reluctantly looked back up at him.

“Don’t worry. If you followed my instructions, the others wouldn’t have able to see you. Plus, I told them not to go in the bathroom, as we were doing renovations,” Ray explained, before pushing back his hair with a hand. “You’re okay, Frank.”

Frank chuckled. “I haven’t heard those three words strung together in a sentence in years.”

“Well, I guess there’s a reason for it,” Ray said, but the tension was eased when Ray began to smile. “I’ll be up in the shop. Just try to keep peace with Jamia: she seems swell.”

Before Frank could thank Ray, Ray left the bar to the back of the club, leaving Frank to turn to the rest. Gerard turned his head to Frank, grinning, while Jamia kept talking to Mikey and Lindsay.

“She’s lovely,” Gerard said, as he stepped towards Frank. A smirk played on his lips, as he said, “Came up to Mikey and I, and wanted to know which one of us you were involved with.”

Silence struck Frank as he shot Jamia a dirty look, but she was too busy talking with Lindsay and Mikey. He looked back at Gerard to see him unable to contain a sly smile, and Frank groaned.

“I’m so sorry,” Frank said. “I’ve just never exactly dated anyone before, so she’s a bit-“

“Mikey said I was. She then went on to tell me that I, and I quote, ‘make you happy.’,” Gerard went on him, and Frank’s heart skipped a beat with each syllable. Gerard smiled, glancing down at the floor. “Is that true?”

Frank lifted Gerard’s chin, still smoothed out with leftover foundation he wasn’t able to take off. Swallowing, Frank nodded hesitantly, reluctant to take his hand away. Gerard took Frank’s hand in his, lacing his fingers in between his. Gerard’s eyes softened, laugh lines wrinkling.

“I’m glad that is,” Gerard smiled, biting his lower lip to keep it from stretching any further. “I’ve grown so fond of you, Frankie.”

There it was. Frank could feel his heart tighten, words bubbling in his throat but trapped behind his tongue. All that can out was the type of laughter that came out when you have no clue how to respond, because Frank knew that nothing he could say would make Gerard feel the way Frank was feeling right now. Gerard didn’t seem to mind, as he began to grin when Frank’s nervous laughter started.

“What’s so funny?” Mikey said, and Frank forced himself to stop. He glanced over at Mikey, who (along with Jamia and Lindsay) were looking over at the two. Gerard quickly unlaced his fingers from Frank’s hand, and disappointment swelled in Frank’s stomach as he did so. 

“Nothing,” Frank said quickly. “Anyway, Jamia and I should be off.”

“But I love your friends, Frank,” Jamia pouted. Lindsay’s arm was wrapped around Jamia’s waist, and Jamia’s head was leaning against her shoulder. As soon as Frank noticed this, Lindsay winked at Frank, causing Frank to shake his head, going towards Jamia.

“You’ve got work in a few hours,” Frank said, taking Jamia’s hand so she slipped away from Lindsay. Jamia rolled her eyes and waved at Lindsay, who smirked in return.

“Bye, doll,” Lindsay said, and Frank ignored the fact that Jamia blushed in response, and looked away from Lindsay with a smile. Only Frank was looked back to see Gerard wave towards Frank, and Frank gave him a stupid smile, waving as Jamia and Frank entered the door at the back of the bar. Once they were out of sight, Jamia sighed in adoration.

“A woman in a suit is the best kind of woman,” she grinned, and Frank looked at her, raising an eyebrow. Before he climbed the ladder, Frank said, “You’re not talking about Lindsay, are you?”

“That’s her name?” Jamia said, and began to giggle. “Gorgeous name. Suits her very well.”

As Frank rolled his eyes, Jamia scoffed. “Come on. I saw the way you looked at Gerard.”

“The only person that can judge me is God,” Frank huffed, turning away to climb the ladder. “And I could give less of a shit over His opinion.”

Jamia’s laughter rang out in the small space as Frank started to climb, and he couldn’t help but smile. Even as the memory of those footsteps and the curiosity over who could’ve heard cemented itself in his head, Frank let himself relish in the present, embracing the laughter coiled around the bars of the ladder. 


	12. The Dreading

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank's overcome his first hurdle with Jamia finding out about his job. Unfortunately, there are bigger conflicts to come in the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys.
> 
> It's been a while since I last updated, and I'm sorry for that. I only have myself to blame (and also school because I started my junior year and boy am I being kicked in the ass), and I want to make it up to guys. I still get the sweetest comments from new readers, and I can't disappoint them by not updating, cause I hate it when I find a fic I love, but it's unfinished and its last update was from like 2013 lmao
> 
> ANYWAY. I love you all so much, and keep reading, because I'm going to resume my weekly updates as a pre-New Years resolution! And this time, I'm actually going to hold it up.
> 
> With love (HA we stan referencing our own chapters), Ava

By the end of the week, Frank had assumed everything went back to normal (or as normally as working in an speakeasy can be). He could let himself breathe around Jamia again, as well as stay out as late in the day with Gerard as he wanted. While Frank did feel uneasy around anyone he suspected of overhearing, the thought had flown away from his mind as he feel into the ease of his regular routine. When Sunday came up, Frank had arrived at the bar with a grin, glad to not have to hide his cash in the seams of Jamia’s couch anymore.

Walking up to the bar, where Laura, Gerard, and Brendon were sitting by, Frank sat next to Gerard and grinned. Mikey looked up at the two from where he was organizing the glasses, and gave an exaggerated sigh.

“Hello to you too, Mikey,” Frank said, and Gerard snorted. “If you’re gonna keep acting all huffy around us, I might have to find you a lover to lighten your mood.”

“Even with one, he’s still like this,” Gerard said. “The only thing I can suggest is a lobotomy.”

Frank chuckled, and looked over at the rest of the group to see their reactions. While Mikey rolled his eyes and Gerard and Laura laughed, Brendon appeared sullen. He looked down at the bar’s countertop, picking at his nails, and Frank grew worried. Usually Brendon would have been laughing the loudest like it was some sort of competition, but this week he seemed to grow more withdrawn. Even his shows became more serious, borrowing Gerard’s black dresses and crooning blues songs instead his usuallyflamboyant shows and sparkly dresses. As Mikey and Gerard started to bicker and Laura tried to mediate the petty argument, Frank took the opportunity to slip away from Gerard and sneak next to Brendon, who didn’t notice Frank until Frank tapped him on the shoulder.

“Oh, hello, Frank,” Brendon said offhandedly, not even looking up at Frank. Frank frowned as Brendon tilted his head up and forced a smile.

“Are you okay, Brendon?” Frank whispered to Brendon. “You seemed a bit down-”

“I’m doing wonderfully,” Brendon interrupted, his tone clipped and icy. “Why would you ask that?”

“You’ve just seemed a bit low energy ever since last week-“

Brendon got up from his seat, causing the rest of the group to look over at him. Brendon didn’t say anything, only staring down Frank until he backed away to where Gerard was. Sighing, Brendon dusted off his dress shirt, and turned to the stage.

“I’m getting dressed,” Brendon huffed. “Gerard, Laura, you two can join me soon.”

With that, he walked away, the room silent for a minute or two after Brendon left for the backstage area. Mikey whistled to break the silence, so Frank turned to him.

“What the hell was that?” Frank demanded, causing Gerard and Laura to turn away to have their own conversation. Mikey looked down and sighed, and Frank came to a conclusion. “Is this about Ryan?”

Gerard and Laura glanced over to Frank when he mentioned Ryan, and Mikey shook his head.

“I don’t think so,” Mikey shrugged. “If it was about Ryan, he would be this blue every time he walked into the bar.”

“Should I leave him alone, then?” Frank asked. He knew that people needed their space when upset, but he also wanted to make sure he could provide support to Brendon. Laura chuckled, so Frank turned his head toward her.

“Brendon’s the type of person that would never admit he’d want to talk to talk about his feelings,” Laura said, smirking. “So he just acts out until the other person gets the hint. It’s irritating as hell, but you get used to it.”

“Oh,” Frank frowned. “Should I go backstage then? Are non-performers allowed back there?”

“You’re as much of a performer as Brendon, Laura, and I,” Gerard said, a slight smile sneaking on his lips. “Who knows, maybe you’ll find a dress to wear tonight as well. Give that suit of yours a break.”

Frank looked down at his suit, which he’d worn (and loved) ever since he started working at the bar. He’d taken care of it, aside from the slightly visible champagne stain on the cuff of his pants after a drunk patron spilled a bottle on the stage. He shot a grin back at Gerard as he got up from his seat. 

“If I do find a dress, I’ll make sure it matches yours tonight,” Frank said, leaving his seat and headed to the stage. All that was heard in the bar was Gerard unconcealed giggles and Laura and Mikey’s fake gagging.

 

* * *

 

 

Frank went behind the curtains that led to the backstage area, his eyes widening. The space was small, only as large as Jamia’s living room, and three people were expected to prepare in this area. However, as small as it was, Frank could tell that there was at least three designated areas per performer: Laura’s was minimal so the mess was small but evident, with her signature provocative outfits and boundary-pushing makeup, such as her black lipstick. Gerard’s was small as well, as Frank knew Gerard wouldn’t want to take up much space, but organized to a fault: a hanger held up his few dresses, and there was a cracked mirror taped to a wall with his makeup standing by it. Finally, there was Brendon’s space, which was as large as Gerard and Laura’s areas combined. Dresses and wigs and jewelry was scoured all over the place, a few of his pieces crosses over to Laura or Gerard’s spaces, as though Brendon wanted to impose himself in any way he could. He was sitting on a wooden chair, holding up a mirror with one hand and applying a berry-colored lipstick with the color. Frank cleared his throat to get Brendon’s attention, and Brendon turned around. Even with his makeup half-done, Brendon was still striking.

“I didn’t expect you back here, Frank!” Brendon said, and looked around sheepishly at his surroundings. “I would have cleaned up if I knew guests were arriving.”

“Oh, it’s no bother,” Frank smiled, and attempted to maneuver his way until he was relatively near Brendon. “I just wanted to check on you. Your behavior was a bit… Odd, to say the least, and I wanted to see if you needed to talk about something.”

Brendon’s eyes widened, as though he didn’t expect anyone to interpret his hidden cries for attention. Sighing, Brendon nodded, before continuing. “I appreciate your support. I’ve just been in a bit of a… Mental dilemma, let’s call it.”

Frank leaned towards Brendon, his interest piqued. “I’m not the best at giving advice, but if you need to talk to anyone, I’m still standing.”

Brendon laughed softly, but his expression turned grim again. “I’m just at a point in my life where I don’t know if my priorities lie in my work, or my relationships, you know?”

Frank nodded, and Brendon took that as his cue to continue. “I’ve just been paranoid about the club’s future, of anything or anyone jeopardizing it, and the future of me and my friends if it all goes to shit. It’s not just a job, you know: this work I do, the lifestyle I’m embroiled in, could get me jailed or killed. You can’t really say that for your average office job.” 

Sighing, Brendon closed the cap on his lipstick. “Then again, I’ve had… Relationships, let’s say, where people have been risking the club’s future. People who I’ve been involved with, whom I value just as much as the work I do. So if there’s someone, whom I personally believe, could possibly screw us over,but whom I also don’t want to hurt… Who or what the hell am I supposed to put first?”

As Brendon came to a close, Frank pursed his lips. Brendon must have still be thinking about Ryan, which Frank could understand: old lovers and friends of his had been jailed because of whom they chose to love, and the guilt of still being free was difficult to ease. The least Frank could do was to help Brendon during this pseudo-grieving process, to alleviate the pain while Frank’s heart still ached.

“I… Honestly don’t know what to say,” Frank admitted. “I guess you should do what you believe is right. Eventually, whatever choice you make will pass, and the past is the past.”

“What if I hurt someone with my choice? Even if I think it’s the best decision?”

Frank raised an eyebrow. He had no idea who the hell Brendon would be referring to, since every at the club seemed to be loyal to it. For his mental wellbeing, he was just going to assume it was still about Ryan. “If it’s the best decision overall, then you’re only gonna hurt that one person. You’ll be sparing everyone else at the bar, though, so I guess it’s just a matter of numbers.”

Brendon’s expression darkened, as he put the mirror down on his lap. For a minute, he had a difficult time looking up at Frank, but eventually glanced up with a smile.

“Thank you, Frank,” Brendon said, an exhale bleeding into his voice. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Glad I could help,” Frank smiled, and took step back from Brendon, ready to leave. “You need anything else while I’m here?”

Shaking his head, Brendon turned away, eyes gazing over the flurry of dresses in the area. “I’ll just finish getting ready. I’ll see you out on stage, though.”

Frank nodded, and walked from Brendon. As he neared the curtains that were a barrier between the backstage and the outside stage, he let himself believe they were talking about Ryan.

 

* * *

 

 

The night continued it usually went: Frank played the piano, occasionally watching the antics of the patrons. His favorite this night had to be a curly-haired customer who attempted to dance awkwardly with his partner, but ended up spilling a glass of wine all over his white shirt. He then cursed loud enough for Frank to hear over the music, in an accent that was either British or Irish. Or maybe he was one of those people that acquired an accent when drunk. Either way, Frank liked to observe people like this: the dandy, flamboyant types that showed up in suits and pearls, regardless of their gender, dancing like no one else was paying attention. Frank could say that was his type, since he was somehow friends with people like Brendon and Jamia, but then there was Gerard. Mousy, shy Gerard whose presence swelled in power onstage, but could also swear like a sailor out of costume. Gerard, who left scraps of drawings that said more than words ever could. Gerard, dressed tonight in a raspberry-colored floor-length dress borrowed from Brendon, hair slicked back into a cropped black wig, crooning a nondescript blues number that Frank knew to take his time on, because it would just be stupid to try and outshine Gerard in that moment. Even when Frank got in the zone when playing, a quick glance from Gerard could easily cause him to almost fumble with his fingers.

Frank wondered if it was possible if people like him could fall in love: to truly be able to connect to someone when everything in the world was seeking to sever any meaningful relationships he could find. You either had to be an idiot or just stricken by love (which was the same thing, Frank mused) to try and maintain a relationship like Frank wanted, so the question wasn’t if he liked Gerard. It was if Gerard was worth the risk.

Gerard dipped his head to take a bow after the first song, and then looked back quick at Frank with a sheepish grin, not even seeking Frank’s or anyone else’s approval. In that moment, Frank had to wonder if danger even existed when Gerard was with him. 

 

* * *

 

 

“Thank the Lord it’s payday,” Dallon muttered, as the last customer drunkenly stumbled out of the bar with some assistance from Ray. “If I don’t hand in the rent soon, I’ll be sleeping in the sewers.”

“Finally! I was waiting for you to join me down there,” Spencer chuckled, as he, Dallon, and Frank took their seats by the bar area. Frank was waiting for Gerard to sit with him after he was done getting out of his work attire backstage, so in the meantime he was sitting with the other musicians. Eventually, the conversation died down as the performers came out backstage, and Gerard joined Frank by the bar. However, even as Gerard and Laura left the backstage area, Brendon was still nowhere to be seen. Usually he was out with them to join Mikey and Frank, but Frank shrugged it off, figuring Brendon was taking longer removing his makeup.

“Frank? You look a little pale,” Gerard said, causing Frank to snap out of his daze. Frank’s face relaxed into a smile, and he said he was okay. This seemed to satisfy Gerard, as he let himself link his fingers with Frank’s. They sat idle, in their own bubble amidst noise, until the latch was heard opening upstairs. The echoes of people climbing down the ladder rang out in the room, until the door swung open. Frank caught his breath as he peered at Pete and his gang, their hair slicked back and dressed in sleek suits that could be worth more than Frank’s own life. However, it wasn’t just them: Brendon trailed behind them, out of his dress and in a tailored suit, lips pursed tightly as he scanned the crowd. How Brendon was able to sneak out to join Pete was beyond Frank, and there wasn’t an exit in the backstage area. Then again, it was Brendon. 

Pete stopped in his tracks, nodding his head at Brendon, causing Brendon to shuffle up to join Pete. Brendon whispered something into Pete’s ear, and Pete nodded curtly, motioning for Brendon to sit in the front of the crowd. Brendon sat, his movements stiff and robotic. Frank couldn’t help but wonder if Brendon met with Pete about the potential person risking the club’s future, but Frank assured himself that they could have just been catching up.

Patrick and was carrying the suitcases with everyone’s wages, and the envelopes were soon taken out and passed around, Andy and Joe giving the envelopes to make sure no one took more than what they were paid. However, as Andy gave Frank an envelope from his breast pocket, Frank noticed that it was smaller than usual. Using his arm to cover it from anyone seeing, he opened the loose flap, and shook out the contents over his lap. Frank felt his face pale, as there wasn’t any money: only a single, curled piece of paper.

Frank glanced up at Pete, who was laughing at something Brendon said. As affable as Pete was, he was a mob leader for a reason. Frank could only hope there was nothing but good will on the sheet of paper, rather than a request for a hitman after his life.

Sucking in a breath, Frank squinted his bleary eyes as he turned the paper over, smoothing it out in order to see what was written on it. Due to lack of sleep, it took a minute for his vision to focus, but once he could finally see what was written on the paper, he couldn’t feel anything in his fingers.

Written in rushed, yet still legible script, were three simple sentences. Though out of context this would seem benign, but nothing seemed benign when Pete was involved.

_Frank: Stay after everyone has left. We’re going to talk. With love, Pete_

Unable to fully panic in a crowded room like this, Frank just crumpled the note in his fist, biting his lip to keep in anything that could hold him accountable. He could hear everyone talking, but it was muffled, as though someone dunked Frank’s head underwater. 

Looking up to see Pete, Frank kept his gaze trained on him. Pete’s head bobbed up, and he gave an easy smile, but there was barely a flicker of warmth in his eyes. 

Frank wasn’t able to wonder if Brendon had anything to do with this. He couldn’t keep his mind off of it by attempting to have a conversation with Gerard. All he could do was stare, almost pleadingly, atPete, and let himself grow numb to the fear. 


	13. The Reckoning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank meets with Pete, and gets an unusual proposition that he can't say no to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOF yall pray for Frank,,, support your favorite sad gay pianist 
> 
> in other news, another update! since school is starting again, updates might get a bit shaky, but at least i kept my promise haha. i've been so grateful for all the support i've received since starting again, you have no idea. i love you all, and i hope you enjoy this chapter!!!

Most of the employees had already left after getting paid, but Frank tuned out their conversations as one by one, they disappeared up the ladder back to the outside world. The only ones left were Ray getting the barbershop upstairs ready for the day, Mikey by the bar, Brendon with Pete and his gang sitting by the stage, and Gerard waiting for Frank to say something. When Frank looked up at Gerard, Gerard forced a smile despite noticing the paleness in Frank’s face.

“You okay, Frankie?” Gerard asked, and Frank felt guilt stab him in the gut. All this time he was sitting there like he was in a coma, Gerard right beside him waiting patiently when he could have left. Frank nodded, letting himself smile, and tucked a stray hair behind his ear. He could feel the paper in his fist burn through his flesh. “Yeah. I’m just tired, don’t worry.”

Gerard looked like he didn’t believe him, with the way his eyebrows furrowed and his lips tightened, but nodded in response. “Right. I was just wondering if you wanted to walk around the city, perhaps go back to my apartment for a bit…”

Despite hearing everything Gerard was saying, Frank still could barely pay attention. Gerard’s voice, the squeaking of Mikey’s dishrag on the countertop of the bar, everything was amplified and muffled at the same time, like Frank was dipping his head in and out of a pool. Gerard seemed to take note of this, as Frank’s eyes glazed over, a thin film of spaced-out thoughts obscuring his ability to pay attention.

“Frank,” Gerard said, snapped his fingers in front of Frank’s face. “I know you said you were okay, but you look… Distracted. So, is everything actually alright?” 

This pulled Frank back into reality, and a wave of guilt crashed over him. He wanted to listen to Gerard, bask in the cheap lighting of the bar, but as long as he had Pete’s note, Frank knew he wouldn’t beable to think of anything else. Sighing, Frank shoved the paper in his pocket, putting his quivering hands on the table. 

“Yeah, I’m okay. I just wanna hear your voice for a bit.”

Gerard laughed a little, then continued talking. Though his words were overhead by Frank’s thoughts, Frank let Gerard’s soft tone blanket himself in its attempt to make Frank feel safe, even in Pete’s foreshadowing presence. 

 

* * *

 

 

After everyone had finally left (Frank saw a flash of the disappointed smile Gerard had on his face when he realized Frank wouldn’t be leaving with him), Frank found himself sitting on a stool from the bar before the stage. Andy and Joe were standing behind him, and Frank glanced over his shoulder. Though Andy still appeared intimidating, tattoos peeking out of the corner of his shirt sleeves or collar, Joe was nearly unrecognizable. His former cloud of fluffy brown curls were cropped, revealing Joe’s now stony face. Instead of the apron Frank had seen when they first met at the deli, Joe was now dressed in a sharp suit, probably tailored by Brendon. Glancing back further, Frank saw Patrick at one of the tables, scribbling furiously in a notepad while going over what seemed to be a checkbook. If Frank hadn’t heard that Patrick was Pete’s personal accountant, he wouldn’t have known why he was over there.

Finally, there was Pete. He was sitting on the stage, legs crossed with one swinging idly over the edge. There was a small smirk on his face as he gazed over Frank. Though it was likely that he was up all night doing whatever mobsters did, Pete’s suit was without a crease nor stain. He clapped his hands, causing Frank to nearly yelp, and lowered his hands when he had Frank’s attention.

“So,” he started, taking off the brimmed hat from his head. “You know why you’re here?”

Fearing the consequences if he didn’t answer, Frank grabbed the sheet of paper given to him earlier from his pocket. By now, the handwriting was smudged by nervous sweat, but Frank still vaguely remembered what it said.

“You, uh, wanted to talk, right?” Frank gulped, and Pete seemed to smile in approval.

“That’s right,” Pete said. “I don’t usually talk to the employees here, so you should take this as an honor of sorts.”

Frank blinked in surprise. He wondered if he wasn’t in trouble until Pete spoke again.

“I’m just gonna tell you what I heard, and you’ll confirm whether or not I’m correct,” Pete said. “I was told that a friend had followed you here, and discovered that you worked here. Am I wrong?”

Though his mouth was going dry, Frank attempted to swallow. He considered lying, but realized that he was too screwed to dig himself into a deeper hole. Pete somehow knew about Jamia, and the person who ratted Frank out was either Lindsay, Ray, Mikey, or Gerard. Lindsay seemed to like Jamia, and Ray approved of her, so they were out of the question. Frank knew Mikey’s thoughts on Pete, so he wouldn’t dare go near him. As for Gerard… Frank wanted to think that Gerard wouldn’t do that to him, so he refused to consider the other possibility. 

“You’re right,” Frank admitted, his voice shrinking to a whisper. “Who told you?”

“I don’t like to give out names,” Pete said, brushing off Frank’s concerns, but Joe cleared his throat. Pete, Andy, and Frank looked up at him. 

“C’mon, Pete, he’s already in this position,” Joe said, his tone uncomfortable. “The least you could do is tell him.”

Sighing, Pete slicked back his hair with his hand. “Fine, I’ll only give you a hint. Last week, as everyone was leaving in the morning, my informant heard you and someone else in the closet, and was worried this stranger could jeopardize the club’s future.”

Frank was frozen in his seat. So it wasn’t Mikey, Lindsey, Ray, or Gerard, thank God, but it was someone else who was leaving the club. Frank’s mind flickered back to Brendon’s skittish behavior around him, their conversation on how to deal with someone who could ruin the bar’s future, Brendon speaking with Pete last night… Everything seemed to click. Frank’s heart fell to the pit of his stomach: someone whom he thought was his friend ratted him out, and if Brendon took Frank’s advice during that conversation, Frank essentially advised him to do so.

“Was it Brendon?” Frank asked. Pete’s silence gave him the answer Frank needed. 

“You gotta understand,” Pete said with a sigh. “If the wrong person knows about the club, it’s not just Brendon who gets in trouble. It’s us, you, and the people you love. Everyone goes down, all because of what seemed to be one little mistake.”

His breathing ragged, Frank’s eyes stung with tears, but he refused to let them out. Frank knew, of course, why Brendon would tell Pete, but it still hurt.

“See, it’s not a question of you breaking the rules,” Pete explained. “It’s your loyalty and commitment to what we’ve built. So my friends and I want to test that with a promotion.”

“A what?” Frank asked, turning his head up. “No punishment? You’re not gonna, like, chop off my fingers or shoot me in the back?”

Pete started laughing, and Frank could hear Joe and Andy let out chuckles behind him

“Oh, Lord no,” Pete snorted. “Me and my friends, we’re benevolent compared to all the other wannabe mobsters out there. We only cut off your fingernails.”

Frank’s eyes widened, but Pete started laughing again.

“I kid, I kid,” Pete said, only slightly assuring Frank that he was only joking. “We just want to test your loyalty to us by having you go deeper into this lifestyle. To see if you’re ready to truly commit when faced with bigger responsibilities.”

Sliding off the stage, Pete stood in front of Frank, casting a shadow over him.

“We want you to join our gang.”

Blinking, Frank wondered if he heard Pete corrected. “What?”

“We want you in the gang,” Pete repeated slowly, as though he was speaking to a child. “We’ll give you the details of the job later, but you won’t need to do much. Just distribute certain products, keep an eye on the club. You can still play the piano, if you want, but we’ll have to hire another musician so that wouldn’ttake up all your time.” 

It was tempting. The pay would definitely be higher, and the job seemed easy enough. However, it all appeared too good to be true. “What if I don’t join?” Frank asked.

“The consequences are obvious,” Pete said. “It’d be apparent that you’re not suited for this sort of lifestyle, and you’d have to leave the club. Considering you already know about us, my friends and I would have to think about calling law enforcement on you-“

“No, no, wait,” Frank interrupted, and bit his lip in concentration. Frank knew he would have to join, and the work didn’t seem that bad on the surface. However, he was still living with Jamia, and being involved with people like Pete and his gang could jeopardize her safety even further. He’d have to find somewhere new to live soon, just to keep his friends out of the way of danger. “I’ll join."

"Excellent!" Pete grinned. "You'll get your first assignment tomorrow-"

I just wanna know why you want me in. People don’t usually reward others for fucking up.”

Pete appeared almost surprised at Frank's rebuttal, before beginning to smile. “As our business grows, we need more men. And there’s no one more compliant in this world than a desperate man.”

Glancing down at Frank, Pete had a sly smirk on his face. The curl of his lips burned into Frank's mind, branding it. “Welcome to the gang, my friend."

 

* * *

 

After Pete, Patrick, Joe, and Andy left the club, Frank was left to walk home alone. He knew he couldn’t contact the police, but that would put Frank and his friends at risk of prosecution. Telling Jamia of his new occupation was out of the question once again, and as far as Frank knew, Gerard and his other friends at the bar weren’t heavily involved with Pete, other than Brendon. However, Frank had no clue how to deal with the Brendon situation, and his mind was too fatigued to think of the implications of what was essentially Brendon’s betrayal.

Going up the stairs to Jamia’s apartment after entering the building, Frank found himself growing paranoid. It was as though each shadow contained an informant of Pete’s, ready to slip into Frank’s mind and tell Pete that Frank wasn’t prepared to be in a gang. Frank pulled out the paper from Pete from his pocket, and glanced at it as he reached Jamia’s door. Gritting his teeth, Frank ripped up the paper, putting the shreds back in his pocket like that erased what happened this morning.

Frank knocked on the door, and Jamia answered, dressed only in a bathrobe with her hair up. She must have been getting ready for work, and appeared surprised when Frank appeared.

“Oh, hello, Frank!” she grinned, letting Frank inside. Sweet Pea scrambled from under the couch to Frank’s feet, biting at his shoes furiously. Frank felt himself begin to laugh, and picked up Sweet Pea, kissing her on the head. Jamia continued, saying, “I thought you’d be out with that beau of yours, Gerard. Nice of you to come back early, though.”

Looking up at Jamia, Frank let out a weak laugh. He had no clue what to tell her, now, especially since his new job actually required secrecy. Remembering his promise to not lie to Jamia, Frank cursed in his head. Only he could fuck up at this level.

“I just missed you, I guess,” Frank said, his voice beginning to crack. He let Sweet Pea down, and kicked off his shoe for Sweet Pea to play with. “That’s all.”

Jamia eyed Frank suspiciously. “Are you okay, Frank?”

Frank walked towards the couch and slipped off his other shoe. He loosened his tie as he slumped on the couch, the color drained from his face. Jamia sat down with Frank, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Did something happen at work? Or with any of your friends?”

_“You don’t even know the half of it,”_ Frank thought, and suppressed a nearly hysterical laugh. If Frank had met the person he was only a few months ago and told him what would happen to him, the old Frank wouldn’t believe even a quarter of it. It was almost funny, in a tragic way: anytime things seemed to be going okay for Frank, he had to find a way to sabotage his own happiness. Maybe God really was against him. Or maybe Frank just made horrible decisions. Either way, there was an art to fucking up, and Frank realized that he was beginning to master it.

“Frank, are you crying?”

Reaching a hand to touch his cheek, Frank discovered that it was wet. Wiping his stained sleeve on his eyes, Frank let out an embittered chuckle. “I guess I am, huh?”

Frank let himself cry, but he didn’t feel anything except fatigue. All he wanted to do was sleep, and wake up to find all his mistakes erased; that Pete wasn’t targeting him, that Brendon didn’t snitch on him, that he could be with Gerard out in the open. This was his reality, though, and all he could do was keep going with it.

Jamia pulled Frank into a hug, and let himself be enveloped in the vanilla scent of her favorite perfume, contrasting with his stench of gin and sweat. Frank could feel the soft cloth of Jamia’s bathrobe on his chin as he rested it on her shoulder.

“Oh dear, what in the hell happened, Frank?” Jamia said, pulling apart from Frank. Frank wiped his eyes and shrugged.

“It’s kind of taken a toll on me,” Frank said, which wasn’t a lie, thank God, just not the whole truth. “Like, my body is physically tired, but I feel like mentally, I’m floating. Like I can’t feel what’s in my body to cope with what’s happening.”

Nodding, Jamia looked down. “Well, in any case, just know that no matter what happens, I’ll always be there to support you. Even if you get yourself in some deep shit.”

Frank began to laugh, even as his heart sank. “Who says I’m not in deep shit already?”

They both laughed, and the lightness in Jamia's laugh indicated that she was oblivious to the reality of Frank’s morning. Jamia didn’t know, but Frank was already wondering where else he could live just to protect her from his own fucked up world.

“I’m gonna finish getting ready for work,” Jamia said, getting from the couch. “And I’ll let you sleep in today. Just try to get yourself together.”

_“Too late for that,”_ Frank thought, but he smiled, grateful for Jamia’s comfort nonetheless. 

“Thanks,” Frank said. “I really missed you.”

“I know you did, Frankie,” Jamia giggled, before turning to go to her bedroom. As she walked away, Frank felt himself getting dizzy, and crashed his head on the pillow of the couch. Putting his legs up on the couch, Frank felt his eyes flutter shut, the world going dark. As Frank was beginning to sleep, all he could hope for was that tonight, he would have the mercy of a dreamless day. 

However, this was Frank’s life. At this point, Frank could only expect the worst to come to him, defending the stampede with little more than what was left of his pride and dignity. 

 

 

 

 

 


	14. The Fallout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank gets an unexpected assignment from Pete that requires him to confront an old friend, and rehash a few old feuds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first off, sorry for not being able to post on Saturday!!! it was my grandmother's birthday party (which was awesome btw) so i was busy celebrating haha. i just hope you guys are patient with my upload schedule, especially since school is a thing again (rip me lmao). im probs just gonna try and upload every week instead of using a set date, just in case i get busy!!!
> 
> once again, thank you guys for your patience and continuing to read!!!

Given the urgency in Pete’s initial encounter with Frank, Frank would have expected his first task to be the afternoon of him joining, or at least by nightfall. However, for the next week, Frank’s schedule resumed as normal: he played piano at the club, he went out with Gerard, and even managed to have a few cold conversations with Brendon. Frank would never forget the bewildered expression on Brendon’s face when he returned to the club, the way his eyebrows quirked up when they exchanged greetings. It was almost like Brendon expected Pete to dispose of Frank somehow, yet he still snitched anyway. Frank chose not to dwell on that for too long.

Rather, it was on that next Friday, a week after Frank’s first meeting with Pete and his gang, thatFrank would begin his first task. As the envelopes were being passed around, Patrick went up to Frank’s table, impatiently tapping his foot until Frank noticed.

“Frank, right?” Patrick said, his tone clipped. Before Frank could respond, Patrick let out an exasperated sigh. “No time for corrections. Come with me.”

Raising his eyebrows, Frank frowned. He wouldn’t even talk to Sweet Pea that way. Then again, it was Patrick. He may have just been an accountant for Pete, but he was always attached by the hip to him, to the point where many considered him Pete’s second in command. Frank bit his tongue, getting up from the chair and offering a sheepish smile to Gerard, who still sat confusedly.

Patrick and Frank walked towards the side area of the stage, where the heavy velvet curtains, stained with cigar burns and champagne, billowed over the elevated area, so Frank was sure they were obscured by them. It was fine by him, because he had no plans on telling anyone about his new venture into the underworld.

“Pete has your first task ready,” Patrick said, his annoyed tone perplexing Frank. Frank was still anxious about what he was supposed to do, but Patrick seemed less official and more pissed off than anything else. “He wants you to get a new suit.”

“He wants me to what?” Frank said, his eyes widening. He had no clue why Pete wanted him to get a new suit, unless there was some sort of uniform Frank was unaware of. 

“I _know_ ,” Patrick sighed again, barely listening to Frank. “Ridiculous, right? Here I am, concerned with our partners’ loans within our product distribution, and Pete’s only focus is playing dress-up with the newbie.”

Patrick continued on his rant, but Frank tuned out what he was saying out of shock. First, he was impressed Patrick had the gall to question Pete; whether Patrick and Pete were close friends, or Patrick was just an idiot, Frank didn’t know. However, it was the suit that caught Frank off-guard. Perhaps Pete never had bad intentions, and was only trying to welcome Frank to his new lifestyle: after all, what kind of malevolent mob boss would order his subordinate to buy new clothes?

“You listening, Frank?” Patrick said, snapping his fingers in front of Frank’s face, calling him to attention. Noticing the glazed look in Frank’s eyes, Patrick sighed. “Finally. Thought I was losing you. Anyway, you’re heading over to Brendon’s shop once everyone files out. Use your salary for the new suit. If I hear anything about Pete or I having to pay, you’re on the goddamn line.”

Reaching into the jacket of his suit, Patrick pulled out an envelope, and Frank took it. He knew he could get the job done, but complications arose when Brendon’s name was mentioned. Frank only planned on being Brendon’s acquaintance, deciding to cut direct contact outside of work. However, he now had direct orders to get a new suit, specifically from Brendon. Frank opened his mouth to question Patrick, but quickly closed it, wondering if he could be punished for asking questions. Despite this, Frank decided to ask anyway, hoping the question was safe enough.

“I understand,” Frank nodded, his mouth getting dry. “Can I bring someone with me to the fitting? I wouldn’t tell them what it was for, just that I wanted a new suit, and-“

“Christ, slow down before you start tripping over your words,” Patrick said. “For jobs like these, you’re allowed to have contact with others. You’ll just have to keep secrets once you start getting the real work.”

Before Frank could ask what Patrick meant by “real work”, Patrick shooed Frank off, saying he had to consult with Pete about something. As Patrick stormed towards Pete, Frank trudged back to his seat where Gerard still was, despite many getting up to leave. Gerard’s lips quirked into a smile when he saw Frank, standing up and walked towards him.

“I was wondering where you ran off too,” Gerard grinned, and glanced over at the exit door. “You busy with anything? Or do you have time to spare for a wretch like me?”

Frank put the envelope in his suit jacket, and a realization dawned upon him. He wouldn’t have to face Brendon’s questions alone if he had Gerard with him; hell, Brendon wouldn’t even dare bring up Pete with someone like Gerard with Frank. As long as Brendon and Frank could feign normalcy long enough, it would just be another regular morning.

“Only if a fellow wretch can join you,” Frank said with a smile. “I was actually thinking about buying a new suit. About time, if you’ve seen the condition on this one.”

“Really?” Gerard said, raising an eyebrow in surprise. “I was actually growing used to the tattered cuffs on your sleeves.

“I blame my dog on that one,” Frank snorted. “I’d love some decent company, though.”

“Decent company? You’ll have to look elsewhere, then,” Gerard said coyly, before breaking out in another grin. “I’d love to go, Frank.”

Lacing fingers together, Gerard led Frank towards the exit door, and Frank colder help but look down at their intertwined hands. He savored the cold that was spiking through Gerard’s hands, tracing a thumb over the ink stains left on Gerard’s fingers, before they would have to inevitably detach once they reached the outside world.

 

* * *

 

As Frank and Gerard reached the shop, Frank glanced up at the sign, biting his lip. The curved letters of the sign gleamed, and Frank saw a distorted reflection of himself in the freshly painted shine of the _U_ of _Urie_. He let Gerard push open the door to the shop, and Frank hesitantly trudged inside.

Frank saw Brendon emerge from a backdoor of the shop, measuring tape slung around his shoulders. Though Frank hoped Brendon wouldn’t notice at first, Brendon glanced up to see Gerard in the shop with Frank in his shadow. Though his fists were clenched around the tape, Brendon forced a smile as he walked up towards Frank and Gerard.

“It’s been a while,” Brendon finally said. “Anything I can do for you two?”

All three resorted to silence, Frank biting his tongue to keep back everything he wanted to spill. To break the tension, Gerard cleared his throat, explaining, “Frank said he wanted a new suit, so he’s here for another measuring.”

“Measuring won’t be necessary,” Brendon replied, his tone clipped. “I just need an understanding of what Frank would want out of his suit.”

Nodding, Frank followed Brendon to a back room, but Gerard stayed put. Frank quickly walked back towards Gerard, asking if he wanted to join. With a smile, Gerard declined, saying he was going to find a restroom. Frank balled his fists, nails printing half-moons in the palms of his hands. Instead of staying helplessly, waiting for Gerard like a child looking for their parent, Frank just nodded, following Brendon to a back office as Gerard left to look for a restroom. 

As Frank followed Brendon, Brendon opened a door to what seemed like a room the size of a closet. In this minimal space was a desk, taking up nearly a quarter of the room, and two chairs on either side. The only thing that indicated it was a tailor’s office was the sewing machine tucked under the desk to make room for the whirlwind of checkbooks and tax forms, Frank resigning to the fact he would never understand. Brendon took a seat on the opposite side of the desk, with Frank on the other side, shrinking into himself meekly until Brendon spoke up.

“So, how would you like your suit to be tailored?” Brendon asked, and Frank’s eyes widened. 

“Really?” Frank muttered. “That’s all you’re gonna say? After everything that happened?”

Each icy word that spiked from Frank’s lips stabbed Brendon, and Frank could tell with the way Brendon’s face fell. Despite that, Brendon quickly composed himself, glaring at Frank with a steely gaze.

“I’m just trying to conduct business as normal.”

“Nothing can be normal after what you did to me,” Frank spat out, lowering his voice in case Gerard was near. “You were my fucking friend, and you snitched on me to Pete? The fuck’s wrong with you?”

Though Brendon appeared calm, his fists were shaking on his desk, despite him trying to keep them still. “You told me to do what’s best for the club, and I did just that. Besides, Pete didn’t even seem to harm you, if you’re out buying a suit out in the open like this.”

Frank raised an eyebrow, wondering if Brendon even knew that Frank was now in Pete’s gang. He decided not to say anything on that, instead letting his face grow red with concealed rage.

“You could’ve just talked to me, you know,” Frank said, almost on the verge of hysterical chuckles at the situation. “I know why you told Pete about my friend. She’s good, you know. She wouldn’t have said anything, but you just had to fucking say something to Pete.”

“Well, excuse me for not trusting you after that little incident,” Brendon said, sarcasm dripping from his voice as the words gritted from his teeth. “This isn’t just a job, Frank. If the wrong person happened to come across the club, it’s not just my ass on the line. It’s you, me, and all our friends facing jail time, being outed as degenerate queers to the world, and facing everything that comes with that. I snitched on you, sure, but at the cost of everyone else in the club.”

“But it was for nothing!” Frank said, attempted to keep his yells to a whisper. “Fucking nothing! Could you live with that? Or do you just have some kind of martyr complex?”

Sighing coolly, Brendon laced his fingers together, tilting his head towards Frank. “Perhaps your friend is trustworthy. Say she messes up the same way you did, like mentioning something she shouldn’t to the wrong person. The police get tipped off, and then it’s all over. For one mistake, you’d punish everyone involved, from me, to you, to even Gerard.”

Frank nearly choked on a breath, growing silent. The thought of Gerard - delicate, doodling Gerard - rotting away in a prison cell brought reality back to Frank. Looking down at his lap, Frank had to admit that he understood where Brendon was coming from. Hell, if Frank was in Brendon’s position, he might have taken the same action, especially since Brendon had known Pete longer than he knew Frank. Anger still seethed in his veins, but Frank was forced to face the truth of the situation.

“The fuck’s wrong with you?” was all Frank could mumble, his voice strained Frank didn’t look at to see Brendon, and couldn’t imagine his expression; whether it be smug, or pissed, or even empathetic, Frank wanted a minute to avoid the situation. Brendon’s voice was muffled amidst Frank’s thoughts, as Brendon discussed the logistics of the tailoring, not even noticing Frank’s distant gaze. All Brendon’s voice did was bring Frank back to their conversation, the one that essentially ratted Frank out. Each clipped word from Brendon brought staccato sparks of memory, and Frank could only internally admonish himself. How could he think Brendon was referring to Ryan at that time, especially since-

_“Wait a minute,”_ Frank thought. From what Frank could remember from Ryan’s story, Ryan was ratted out to the police by someone. The new bar Ryan founded had to compete with the business down at Pete’s place. Brendon always got shifty when reminded of Ryan. _“Holy shit.”_

Frank’s head shot up, glaring bullets at Brendon. Brendon furrowed his brows, tilting his head in confusion. “Are you all right, Frank-“

“This is about Ryan, isn’t it?” Frank said, attempting to keep his voice in control. Brendon froze, color draining from his face as he seemed to be unable to move.

“How do you know about him?” Brendon whispered weakly. For a moment, Frank almost felt bad for bringing Ryan up, but he was ignited by anger. Frank knew he understood Brendon’s actions, but that didn’t mean he forgave him. 

“It’s the same story all over again,” Frank continued, his voice tinged with hysteria. “You start getting suspicious of one of your friends, and rat them out to Pete so no one threatens the club. It all started with Ryan, and you just had to do it to me.”

Brendon just sat at his desk, staring at Frank with wide eyes. He was silent, the tension fueling Frank’s anger, until he said in a cracked voice, “Are you implying I tried to hurt him?”

“You still can’t even say his name,” Frank spat. “You’re not some hero to the bar if you still feel guilty about sending your lover to jail.”

Frank felt his stomach pang with guilt as Brendon’s face seemed to crack. Brendon’s eyes were unblinking yet were glazed over with tears that refused to fall, bottom lip quivering. For a moment, Frank wondered if he was the one to sever his tie with Brendon, all in one confrontation. As the color drained from Brendon’s face, Frank knew he beat Brendon, and he hated himself for it.

“I didn’t do anything to Ryan,” Brendon finally said, blinking. A few hot tears spilled from Brendon’s face, and Frank wondered if they would leave imprints on his cheeks. “And you walk into my shop, try to buy a suit, and end up accusing me of snitching on my childhood best friend? My first love? Do you have any fucking idea how that feels?”

Though his words were laced with anger, Brendon’s voice was wavering, broken. Frank sunk back in his seat until Brendon put a hand on the table.

“Just give me the money, and I’ll have a suit ready for you by tomorrow,” Brendon said, his voice still shaking, too unraveled to regain his composure. “I just need you to leave.”

“Brendon, I’m sorry-“

“Go,” Brendon said, and Frank quickly stood up from his seat. “Get the fuck out of my goddamn shop-“

Frank didn’t hear Brendon finish that sentence as he left Brendon’s office, closing the door behind him. A lump grew in his throat, and Frank clenched his fists in the middle of the store. A few scraggly tears escaped Frank’s eyes, so hot that Frank could swear they evaporated as they left his eyes. He continued walking towards the front door, the bell on the door taunting him as he left. Frank glanced up to his right, seeing Gerard leaning against a wall next to the shop, smoking a cigarette. The familiar scent of nicotine calmed Frank’s nerves, if only a little bit.

“Hey,” Gerard said, a smile curling on his lips. “I had to use the restroom next door.”

Frank nodded shakily, standing next to Gerard. Gerard frowned, tapping the end of the cigarette to let the ash fall to the ground, and used the other hand to tuck back a stray hair behind Frank’s ear. Frank’s skin was alight at the sudden touch, as he let his hand brush against Gerard’s hand as it retracted away from Frank’s face. Frank felt himself smile involuntarily with each touch; as brief as they were, Frank could still appreciate any contact he could with Gerard, especially out in the open, especially seeing Gerard’s fallen face as he realized he couldn’t comfort Frank when he was distressed out in public.

However, Frank tensed with each guilty touch. Frank at least knew he could be comforted, be it from Jamia or Gerard. All Brendon could do was sit in his office, alone, waiting for a lover that would never come back to him. 


	15. The Visiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank visits Gerard's apartment, finding himself growing closer to Gerard, and escaping his troubles for even just a day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys!! sorry this chapter's late, school's a bitch haha. however, i want to be able to connect with my readers, because it's hard to let you guys know how the story is/delay updates/how im doing on ao3. so, i made a bandom discord!! it's just a place to chat about bandom, writing, and everything else!! so if you wanna join, here's the link:
> 
> https://discord.gg/Zncsq6
> 
> it expires in a day, so i'll be posting the link with each update so more people can join!
> 
> anyway, here's the chapter!! happy reading, guys!!!

As Gerard and Frank leaned against the wall, Frank dropped the butt of what was left of the cigarette he bummed from Gerard. Breathing out the remaining smoke, he watched as the vapor dissipated into the air, letting the smog coat his guts. They were quiet as the streets began to fill with people going about their days, unaware of the scene that transpired only around half an hour ago.

“Pardon me for asking, but are you still up for doing anything?” Gerard asked, and Frank was pulled out of his haze. Glancing at the butt, Frank crushed the remains with the heel of his shoe. Even if he fucked things up with Brendon, there was no use in hating himself for it now. Looking up at Gerard, Frank forced a smile as he stepped away from the butt, as it marked itself into the pavement.

“Depends on what you’re planning,” Frank replied, and Gerard shrugged sheepishly, looking away to tuck a loose hair behind his ear.

“Excuse me if this is too forward,” Gerard whispered, leaning in to Frank’s ear. “But I was wondering if you’d like to spend the day with me back at my apartment.”

Frank nearly choked on air at the proposition. When Gerard noticed Frank’s eyes widening, he stepped back, his face going red.

“I’m not saying we make anything lewd of it,” Gerard stammered. “I figured that it’s a bit of a hassle to censor ourselves in public, so it’d be convenient to be alone-“

“Don’t worry,” Frank said, finally beginning to crack a genuine smile. “I get what you’re saying. Besides, I was wondering when you’d finally ask.”

Gerard’s shoulders relaxed. “Oh, thank God, I didn’t fuck it up.”

“Don’t worry, you definitely have,” Frank grinned. “I just like your style.”

Stifling a laugh, Gerard linked his arm with Frank’s, as they weaved past the growing crowds too preoccupied with themselves to notice the two.

 

* * *

 

The walk was short, as they left Bleecker Street and explored Greenwich Village until they stumbled across a few rows of dilapidated apartments. Gerard’s pace slowed as he walked up towards the stoop of one of the apartments, fumbling for a key in his pocket. Frank simply stood on the pavement, observing the neighborhood. Though similar to the street Jamia lived on, there was an abandoned quality to it, as though everyone emerged from their concrete caves to start their days elsewhere. Even then, Frank could sense movement behind the curtains of each window, emitting a warmth that heated the streets, opening the cracks on the pavement to let the weeds poke through.

“Are you coming, or what?” Gerard said, opening the door for Frank to come in. Frank snapped out of his reverie, and walked up the stairs to the inside of the apartment. There a set of mailboxes, half of them nameless, on the ground floor, as well as a staircase that darkened as Frank peered up at it. 

“Do you walk a lot?” Gerard suddenly asked, and Frank shrugged. With that, Gerard smirked as he reached the stairs.

“Perfect,” Gerard smiled. “Because my place is on the fifth floor.”

Before Frank could comprehend what that meant, Gerard already dissolved into the darkness of the staircase. Cursing, Frank ran up the stairs to follow him, not understanding that would be his first mistake of the day.

 

* * *

 

As Frank finally reached the fifth floor, he doubled over, wheezing to catch his breath. Frank had figured he’d run up the stairs and catch up with Gerard, but little did he know that attempting to run five flights of stairs could leave you breathless by the second flight. Frank had managed to trudge his way up to the fifth floor, to a patiently waiting Gerard.

“Don’t you dare judge me,” Frank coughed, straightening his back. Gerard bit his lip to stifle a smile, as he approached one of the doors, dust smearing the engraving of _A5_ on its nameplate. Taking out his ring of keys from his jacket pocket, the door was creaked open, and Gerard led the way inside. Frank, attempting to hold back another fit of coughs ( _“Damn my immune system,”_ Frank thought), followed Gerard inside his apartment, closing the door behind them. 

Frank, finally catching his breath, let his eyes wander over the apartment. Though more compact than Jamia’s, there was a similar layout: the kitchen was shoved off to the side to make room for a slight living room, consisting of only a couch and a coffee table. However, the one difference was that the living room and the kitchen were smaller in size to make room for a certain corner of the room; by the window looking out into the street was a desk littered with crumpled papers and stained with black ink, with a few notable drawings pinned at the edge of the desk. Beside that was an easel, with a blank canvas with tubes of paint spilling over a paper bag next to the stand of the easel. Since the window provided the most light it the room, the desk and the easel, though neutral-toned, lit up the otherwise compact room. Gerard noticed Frank staring at the area, and smiled.

“That’s just my work space,” Gerard explained. “I’ll freshen up a bit and you can look at what’s there. Just try not to dirty it.”

Before Frank could rebut that the desk was already filthy, Gerard had left for a door leading to what Frank assumed was a bedroom. Sighing, Frank crept closer to the desk. The sketches became clearer as he observed them, even the crumpled ones. The style was reminiscent to a Walt Disney short, as though the rough sketches could bounce off the page. They still retained Gerard’s signature jagged lines, the ones Frank recognized from those sketches Gerard did of him all the way back in the park, which he kept hidden in the mattress of Jamia’s couch to keep safe. Though there was a variety in the sketches, from simple busts to portraits of scenes from across the street, there was always a few recurring characters. Frank could spot, for example, a gun-toting mafioso with a comically large cat’s head instead of a human’s, an inscription of _Party Poison_ etched carefully on the character’s tommy gun. Alongside him was a humanoid figure sprouting fur that nearly obscured its idle smile, the fur colored with a few strokes of bubblegum pink acrylic paint. It was the only spot of color the pages, letting the character pop from its fixed place.

Frank’s head bobbed up when he heard the floors creak, indicating Gerard had left his room. Turning around, Frank saw Gerard with his tie loosed, a few buttons of his shirt undone and hair left out of its bun. However, there was a dash of subtle, yet still noticeable nude lipstick swiped across Gerard’s mouth. Gerard noticed Frank glancing at his lips, and gave a nervous laugh.

“I can take it off, if you want,” Gerard offered, crossing his arms over his chest. “It just makes me feel more like myself, in a way.”

Before Frank could say anything, his mind flashed back to the conversation back when Frank was still new to the club, when him and Gerard were standing outside that cafe. 

_“The only time I can escape this gnawing discomfort is when I’m Miss Gee.”_

With this in mind, and noticing Gerard’s hands beginning to shake, Frank could only shrug.

“Keep it on if it makes you happy,” Frank said. “Besides, it suits you anyway.”

Relief washed over Gerard’s face, his shoulders relaxing as they lost tension. He walked over towards the desk, standing behind Frank with his chin on Frank’s shoulder, as they looked over the desk.

“Sorry my work room’s a mess,” Gerard said, and though Frank couldn’t see Gerard’s face, his voice carried a smile. “It’s the only way I can concentrate.”

“Not my job to worry about,” Frank chuckled, before pointing to the characters on the pages. “And who are these two?”

“My only friends,” Gerard said, breaking his deadpan tone with a snort. “They’re just characters I draw for a comic strip. The cat with a gun’s called Party Poison, and the pink one’s called Lola. She travels across the galaxy to spread love across the universe.”

“Walt Disney needs to watch out for you,” Frank said, causing Gerard to chuckle. “Anywhere I can read about their adventures?”

Gerard grew silent, before taking his chin off of Frank’s shoulder, standing beside him. When Frank looked up, all Gerard had on his face was a wry smile. “I’ve been sending the strips off to a few newspapers, publishing houses and such. No one’s picked it up yet, but I’m still working on it.”

Narrowing his brows, Frank remembered his dismissal at his former job. “Screw the newspapers. You’re too talented to slave over their demands for weekly strips.”

Walking over to the desk, Gerard traced the outline of the edges of the paper, before looking back and shrugged. “At least the pay’s consistent. It’s hard to keep a home when your salary depends on how many people are brave enough to leave the house to see you perform in drag.”

Frank opened his mouth to rebut, but closed it quickly, understanding what Gerard was saying. Despite that, Frank still asked, “But I thought you loved performing?”

“Of course I do,” Gerard said. “That’s why I risk my livelihood every night when I go to work. I just can’t see myself doing that when I’m, say, sixty or so, and still living in an apartment like this. Who’d want to see some wrinkled ancient relic put on a dress and crone Billie Holiday songs?”

“I would!” Frank said, lilting his tone to mimic taking offense, but grew silent as Gerard began to snort with laughter. Frank attempted to picture himself, fifty or so years later, still in a stained suit, struggling to see piano keys under the dim light, still under Pete’s shadow. He wondered if he’d even livelong enough to see senior citizenship.

“Frank?” Gerard whispered, and Frank blinked away his reverie. Leaning against the wall by the desk, Gerard crossed his arms. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Frank said suddenly. “Just tired. I’d usually be sleeping by now.”

Gerard nodded, taking a seat in the chair by his work desk. “You can take a nap, if you want. I’ll be working in the meantime-“

“Aren’t you tired too, though?” Frank asked, remembering the hours they’d both work. Gerard simply shrugged, fiddling a stray pencil between his fingers.

“This is normal for me,” Gerard insisted. “I go home, I work until noon, sleep for a few hours, then Mikey comes over to wake me up for the bar.”

Gerard began to laugh as Frank’s eyes widened. “It’s no big fuss, Frankie. Just sleep for a few hours, it won’t be a bother-“

As Frank crept toward Gerard, Gerard’s out closed in confusion. This was until Frank took Gerard’s hands, lifting him from the chair and leading him to the couch. Gerard groaned.

“I need to work, Frank-“

“You’ll be able to focus once you get some sleep,” Frank insisted, leaning against the arm of the couch. “Take a break, even for a minute, then I’ll be out of your hair.”

Gerard glanced back at his work desk, but Frank snaked a hand around Gerard’s head, turning it to face him.

“Today we’re going to lounge like ladies-in-waiting,” Frank announced, pulling Gerard closer to him. “We’re going to put the upper-class to shame with our leisure.”

With a defeated sigh, Gerard watched Frank fall from the arm of the couch to the cushions, making himself comfortable on the sheets stained with cheap wine. Despite this, Gerard could only follow Frank’s example; he pushed Frank to the edge so he could make room, but even then Gerard was beginning to teeter off the edge as he tried to lay on down on it. 

“Don’t you have a bed we could use?” Frank asked. “I saw you head into one a while ago.”

“That was my bathroom” Gerard said, nearly climbing over Frank to make room. “ _This_ is my bed.”

As Frank began to laugh, Gerard hid his face in the crook of Frank’s neck, and Frank could feel the heat emitting from Gerard’s cheeks. 

“Don’t judge me,” Gerard mumbled, but Frank could feel Gerard’s lips curl into a smile. “It’s the cheapest I could find in the neighborhood, and I can still barely make the rent.”

Frank idly ran his fingers through Gerard’s hair, his neck growing sticky from Gerard’s lipstick. “I’m sure you’ve got suitors lining up to be your roommate.”

“God, I wish,” Gerard chuckled. “Mikey insisted on moving in, but it’s rather infantilizing to have my little brother watch over my every move. Besides, I’m sure most roommates wouldn’t be too fond of shifting through my makeup in the bathroom.”

As Gerard shifting his head to rest on Frank’s shoulder, Frank found himself with an idea. One that would keep Jamia away from his lifestyle, and to allow himself to be with Gerard.

“What if I move in?”

Frank understood the risks of living with Gerard, especially if Gerard was dragged into Frank’s new occupation. The rewards almost seemed to outweigh that; Frank could bring more money to help with Gerard’s financial situation, Jamia was out of Pete’s focus, and Gerard would definitely know how to handle himself if confronted with Frank’s new reality, being part of the same world. However, one factor simmered beneath the logic, humming with the beat of Frank’s heart and Gerard continued to squirm to make room on the couch for the both of them, eyebrows scrunched in concentration. Gerard soon came to a still, though, looking up at Frank with the gold flecks glinting in his hazel eyes.

“You sure you wouldn’t mind living with a workaholic, insomniac pansy?”

“It takes one to love one,” Frank answered. “On one condition, though; I have a dog, Sweet Pea-“

“Of course, you oaf!” Gerard grinned, resting his head on Frank’s chest. “I love dogs. I have a condition for myself, as well.”

Frank looked down at Gerard, who wrapped his arms around Frank’s torso, nearly squeezing. “Can you call me Gee?”

“Like your persona?” Frank asked. Gerard pursed his lips, nodding. 

“If I’m letting you into my home, I’d want to be comfortable letting you into my life as well,” Gerard said. Frank mulled over this; if all he had to handle was a name change, Frank wouldn’t mind sharing a home with Gee over Gerard.

“Gee?” Frank asked. Gee glanced up at Frank, eyes wide in disbelief. “You okay? You look a little-“

Gee squeezed his arms around Frank’s torso, peppering kisses across Frank’s jawline. Frank began laughing, lifting his arms to run his fingers through Gee’s stringy hair.

“If I knew you were gonna be this happy, I would’ve asked you about it a long time ago.”

Pausing, Gee looked up at Frank. The image was almost comical, with Gee’s legs hanging off the arm of the couch, just so his chin could line up with Frank’s shoulder. 

“You’re a good man, Frankie,” Gee mumbled, curling up next to Frank like a cat bathing in the sunlight. “One that I’ve grown too fond of for it to be healthy.”

Before Frank could answer, he heard Gee breathe softly against his neck, and looked down to see Gee’s eyes were closed. Though Frank was exhausted, and was too tempted to rest his head on Gee’s and sleep himself, he kept himself awake, encircling the buttons on Gee’s shirt with his fingernail. He knew he’d have to wake Gee up eventually, and was prepared to sacrifice his sleep if it meant he could give it to Gerard, like two flowers poking from the pavement. 


	16. Announcement!!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a placeholder chapter!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the wait!!! here's an explanation

hey guys!!! i just wanna thank everyone who's still sticking around for this fic. i promise an update is coming out this or next week, school has just been really exhausting so it's hard to find time to get the chapter done, but i promise it's coming!!! i just wanted to add this so you guys weren't worried and can stick around for longer

 

in the meantime, im thinking of writing a lil valentines day fic, although idk if it'll be in the Village Darlings universe or in modern day. either way, i def wanna do soemthing to make up for the wait!

 

also, if you guys want more VD content, go check out @spookyeva on instagram!!! she drew a beautiful pic of Gee in drag from Village Darlings and it's everything i could've hoped for and more!!! so if you guys wanna support her, please check out the drawing bc it's fucking amazing!!!

 

here's the link for it pls check it out: https://www.instagram.com/p/BttyH41BX3_/

 

and finally: i wanna thank all you patient nerds for sticking by!!! content will be out soon, but in the meantime, thanks for sticking by!!! <3333

**Author's Note:**

> First off, I'm so excited to share my first non-oneshot fic with the world! I hope anyone reading continues following the saga of Frank, and the unofficial saga of his dog, Sweet Pea.
> 
> If anyone has any suggestions, please put down a comment! Other than that, if you like this disaster of a fic at all, then comment, give kudos, bookmark it - I'm a ho for validation lmao
> 
> My tumblr url is userl4me.tumblr.com, if you guys have any other questions I can answer there.
> 
> Updates are happening every Friday and Tuesday evening, so I can make sure I actually finish this haha
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy!


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